
A BOY OF THE 




































































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COPYRIGHT DEPOSE 


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A BOY OF THE OLD 
FRENCH WEST 



































































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The third wave broke over her .—Page 23 . 







A BOY OF THE OLD 
FRENCH WEST 


By 

ORISON ROBBINS 

Author of “ A Boy of Old Quebec 99 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

W. F. STECHER 




BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 















Copyright, 1927, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved 


A Boy of the Old French West 


* - 
*> m) fc’i 

Printed in U. S. A. 


IBorwoofc press 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
Norwood, Mass. 


• crD 20 ’ 2 ] 

©Cl A1004246 





PREFACE 


The French in North American history 
were, above all else, explorers and gover¬ 
nors. With no traditions to lead them into 
a life of adventure and its accompanying 
hardships, this versatile people had no sooner 
established a precarious footing on the shores 
of the St. Lawrence than it sent forth its 
emissaries of commerce and religion over 
a third of a continent. Though utterly with¬ 
out experience in dealing with inferior races, 
these men, representing at once the authority 
of the king and of the church, and the enter¬ 
prise of the merchant, soon became the con¬ 
trolling force in the primitive politics of the 
basins of the Great Lakes and the Missis¬ 
sippi. 

It is with the period that produced the 
greatest of the French explorers, La Salle, 
that this book deals. It is submitted with 
the hope that, in addition to whiling away 

5 


6 


PREFACE 


a few hours of the young reader’s time, it 
will make more real to him that now long- 
ago period when, with bark canoe and mus¬ 
ket, and a supreme faith in themselves, a 
handful of Frenchmen dominated an em¬ 
pire. 

Orison Robbins. 


Washington , D . C. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The third wave broke over her 

(Page 23) - Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

He crossed the line a foot ahead of 

Leaping Deer - 58 

Philippe found himself caught in the 

animal’s dangerous embrace - - 114 

Black Eagle approached the captives - 232 


7 







5 


A BOY OF THE OLD 
FRENCH WEST 

CHAPTER I 

“ Philippe, it seems to me the breeze is 
getting stronger. I am afraid we are in 
for a hard blow. What do you think? ” 

The speaker was one of four occupants 
of a birch-bark canoe that moved rapidly 
over the rough surface of Lake Superior. 
He was a man of huge build, with a massive 
head, covered with long, brown hair that 
turned up in waves and curls, as it lay upon 
his shoulders. Such portions of his face as 
were not concealed by his wavy brown beard 
were tanned by sun and rain to a dull red 
color, like that of old copper. The blue eyes 
that looked out from under heavy brows 
were clear and honest. 

As he wielded his paddle with long, steady 

9 


10 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

strokes, the enormous muscles of the man 
swelled as if they would burst the deerskin 
tunic which covered them. The very paddle 
bespoke the strength of its user. Its blade 
was of twice the usual size, and its handle of 
tough ash was as thick as a man’s wrist. 
And such size was necessary. No ordinary 
paddle could have transmitted the muscular 
power that caused the canoe to leap like a 
deer at every stroke. 

This giant of the frontier was known as 
Le Gros (The Great One), a name given 
him by the Indians on account of his stature, 
and adopted by his fellow-Frenchmen. 

The lad, Philippe, sat, or rather knelt, in 
the bow of the canoe. He was dressed in 
summer costume; leggins and moccasins of 
deerskin. Above the waist he was bare. 
His skin had the dull brown tint of an 
American Indian. In the glossy black of 
his parted and braided hair, however, there 
were glints of gold; and, as he turned his 
head to reply to Le Gros, he showed the 
clean-cut profile of a Caucasian. The eyes, 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 11 


too, brown in color, were large and soft, not 
small and piercing like those of an Indian. 

While he still lacked some inches and 
many pounds of the height and weight to 
which he would ultimately attain, this six¬ 
teen-year-old boy, trained on the water and 
in the forest, possessed skill and strength 
that made him well worthy of the place of 
second honor in the canoe, that in the bow. 

The other occupants of the little craft 
were a stocky lad of seventeen, nephew to 
Le Gros, and a black-robed Jesuit priest, 
tall, wiry, and somewhat severe of face. The 
boy was known as Henri Minet; the priest, 
as Father Gournay. 

From his place in the bow of the canoe, 
Philippe had studied the aspects of sky and 
water, and had drawn his conclusions long 
before Le Gros spoke. His reply was given 
in imperfect French. 

" Very bad wind come, from there,” Phi¬ 
lippe said, pointing to the northeast. 

“ If there is danger of a severe storm, 
would it not be best to put back to the south 


12 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


shore before it strikes us? ” It was the priest 
who spoke. He had been sitting with his 
head bowed, engrossed with his own 
thoughts. Trusting the skill of his three 
companions, he had hardly given a thought 
to his surroundings since leaving the south 
shore, some four hours before. The ques¬ 
tion of Le Gros, however, and its answer, 
roused him from his reverie. 

“ If the Father will look back, he will see 
that the south shore has now disappeared be¬ 
low the waves,” said Le Gros. “ That blue 
haze ahead is the high land of the north 
shore. I know this place. Just ahead of 
us is a good harbor. It is called, from its 
shape, Two Harbors. If we can get there 
before the storm hits us, we shall be safe.” 

A week earlier (it was in July of 1683), 
the four travelers had left Sault Ste. Marie, 
the mission station at the eastern end of 
Lake Superior, in company with two hun¬ 
dred or more French and Indians. Their 
destination was the bay at the western ex¬ 
tremity of the lake, where the city of Duluth 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 13 


now lies. Their leader was the tireless ex¬ 
plorer and trader for whom that city is 
named, Daniel Greysolon, Sieur du Luth. 
When within some forty miles of his destina¬ 
tion, Father Gournay had directed Le Gros 
to steer across the lake to the north shore. 
He wished to visit a certain band of Indians 
located there. 

Dangerous as it may seem to us for so 
small and frail a craft as a canoe to cross 
the treacherous waters of Lake Superior, it 
was at that time a matter of common oc¬ 
currence. Practically the entire trade of the 
French upon the Great Lakes was carried 
on in these little craft, which crossed and re¬ 
crossed the great inland seas at will. They 
were, in fact, excellent boats for heavy 
weather. Light and well-molded, they could, 
like a New England dory, almost “ float in 
a dewdrop or in a northeaster.” 

Though the northern shore was only ten 
or twelve miles away, there was little chance 
that our travelers could reach it before the 
storm would be upon them. For an hour or 


14 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


more great rollers had been coming up the 
lake, a sure sign of heavy weather to the 
east. The wind, which had blown from the 
south, veered suddenly to the east, and in¬ 
creased in violence until the surface of the 
lake was covered with the white combs of 
breaking waves. The canoe rode easily over 
the long swells, and danced merrily over the 
smaller waves. 

The priest, though he did not possess the 
masterly skill that comes only with lifelong 
use of the paddle, was a fair canoeman. 
He now added his strength to that of his 
companions. Under the impulse of four 
paddles the canoe fairly shot over the water. 
Soon the blue haze to the north resolved it¬ 
self into wooded hills and valleys. Le Gros 
scanned these closely, looking for the harbor 
which he had mentioned. 

“ There it is,” he exclaimed at last, point¬ 
ing to the northeast. “ The canoe has drifted 
so far to leeward that we nearly passed it. 
We shall have to paddle almost into the teeth 
of the wind to make the harbor.” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 15 

The course of the canoe was changed, but 
before it had gone a mile in the new direc¬ 
tion the full force of the gale was upon it. 
The wind did not come in gusts, but bore 
upon the canoe with a hard, steady pressure 
that not even the strength of eight sturdy 
arms could overcome. Instead of moving 
toward the harbor, the craft was actually 
forced backward in spite of the utmost ef¬ 
forts of its crew. 

“ It’s no use, Father,” said Le Gros to the 
priest, after a quarter of an hour of fruitless 
struggle. “ The wind is driving us back¬ 
ward. We shall have to run with it, and try 
to edge in toward the shore. Perhaps we 
can find a bay, or the mouth of a creek, 
where we can make a landing.” 

In an hour the canoe had come to within 
half a mile of the land, though in doing so 
it had traveled several miles up the lake. In 
the meantime the seas had increased in size 
until they rivaled even those of the ocean. 
Fully eighty yards they were from crest to 
crest, and, as the canoe sank deep into the 


16 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


troughs, nothing could be seen by its occu¬ 
pants but the steep slopes of the nearest 
waves, and the hazy blue of the sky over¬ 
head. 

Changing his course so as to run parallel 
with the shore, Le Gros looked anxiously 
for a landing-place. The seas were so heavy, 
however, and broke with such tremendous 
violence upon the rocky shore, that it would 
have meant destruction to attempt to land. 

“ There’s no use in trying it,” said Le 
Gros to the priest. “ I might be able to put 
the canoe through the surf on a sandy beach, 
even in such a storm as this, but to get in 
safely among masses of boulders is beyond 
human power. We shall have to stick to the 
lake until we find a smoother shore. In the 
meantime, Father, you and Henri had best 
stop paddling. Philippe and I can keep the 
canoe to its course, and you two can save 
your strength. We may need it later.” 

The priest soon found another occupation 
than paddling. In spite of the skill with 
which it was handled, the canoe shipped 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 17 


water constantly. In addition, the strain of 
riding the waves caused some of the seams 
to open, and water began to run in through 
them in a way that was really dangerous. 
Unfortunately, there was no vessel for bail¬ 
ing, but Gournay made effective use of his 
large, Jesuit hat. Even so there were times 
when the canoe was a quarter full, but by 
hard work the priest was able to keep the 
water below the danger-point. 

“ Let us hope the wind will blow itself out 
before we reach the end of the lake,” said 
Gournay, when it had become evident that 
no safe landing-place could be hoped for on 
the north shore. “ I should hate to have to 
go through such a surf as is rolling over that 
point we just passed, even to a smooth, 
sandy beach.” 

The wind gave no sign of abating, how¬ 
ever, but rather increased in violence, until, 
as the canoe rose to the crests of the waves, 
it seemed that it must be blown bodily out 
of the water. Le Gros scanned the western 
horizon anxiously. 


18 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

“ Philippe,” he said at length, “ your eyes 
should be as keen as they are bright. Do 
you see any sign of land ahead? ” 

The half-breed boy, for such he was, 
looked intently to the southwest. 

“ Think I see one high, blue hill,” he said, 
“ and many low hills, but may be clouds.” 

As the canoe drove on before the tempest, 
it became apparent that the masses of blue 
were really land. To the left, too, appeared 
the line of hills that borders the southern 
shore of the lake. 

“ Now look even sharper than before,” 
said Le Gros to the lad. “ I have never 
been to this end of Superior, but I have been 
told that a long, narrow arm of sand sepa¬ 
rates the lake from a bay where the water is 
always still. Where the openings through 
this sand-spit are, I don’t know. Watch for 
a channel. If we don’t find one, we may 
all be drowned in the surf.” 

Le Gros spoke with the quiet earnestness 
of one who recognized the dangers of the 
situation, but was prepared to do all that 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 19 

human strength and skill could do to over¬ 
come them. 

In order to get the best possible view, 
Philippe rose from his kneeling position and 
stood in the bow of the canoe, bracing him¬ 
self with his paddle. 

“See white waves break on sand,” he said. 
“ Break all way across end of lake.” 

“ Are you sure? ” asked the guide. “ I 
see it as you do, a continuous line of white 
breakers as far to the south as the eye can 
see. But are you sure there is no break in 
them? ” 

The boy waited fully five minutes before 
he replied, “ No break. All white waves.” 

“ Yes, it is as you say,” said Le Gros. 
“ There is no opening at this end of the bar. 
We must try to work southward until we 
find one.” 


CHAPTER II 


During the time that Le Gros and 
Philippe had been looking for an opening in 
the long bar of sand, through which they 
could pass to the still waters beyond, the 
former had gradually worked the canoe 
away from the north shore. Now that it 
was certain no opening existed near the 
northern end of the bar, the craft was headed 
southward. The white lad, Henri, now re¬ 
sumed his paddle. Gournay kept on with 
his bailing. 

“ Keep her as dry as you can, Father,” 

said Le Gros. “ If the opening into the bay 

is far to the south, we shall have all we can 

do to make it without the handicap of a 

water-logged canoe.” Right earnestly and 

well did the gray-haired priest perform his 

humble but necessary task, and, in spite of 

combing seas and leaking seams, he kept the 

20 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 21 


canoe so nearly clear of water that its buoy¬ 
ancy was maintained. 

With consummate skill did the giant guide 
handle the little craft. To have been caught 
broadside on by a combing wave would have 
meant instant destruction. So easily handled 
was the canoe, however, and so powerful the 
steersman, that as soon as a foaming, roar¬ 
ing crest had passed, the craft swung around 
as on a pivot, and resumed her way to the 
south. The crew then paddled at top speed 
until another breaking wave threatened 
them, when the canoe was again turned to 
the west, to receive the blow in the stern. 

Rapidly the northern shore receded, but 
not less rapidly did the dangerous bar of 
sand seem to approach from the southwest. 
Soon the roar of the surf sounded above the 
rushing noise of the wind, and the face of 
the guide became very grave. Then Philippe 
gave a joyous shout, and pointed ahead with 
his paddle. 

“See!” he cried. “Waves not break. 


Channel there.” 


22 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

A mile or so to the south there was, in¬ 
deed, a break in the long line of roaring, 
driving surf. The opening was but little 
more than a quarter of a mile in width, but 
here the waves ran without breaking into the 
bay that lay behind the bar. 

“ Do you think we can make it? ” asked 
the priest of Le Gros. “We are getting 
very close to the surf, and the channel seems 
a long way ahead.” 

“ It will be a close rub,” replied the guide. 
“ I think, though, there is a current set¬ 
ting southward along the bar. It may carry 
us into the channel.” 

Now that their goal was so close at hand, 
the efforts of the three paddlers were re¬ 
doubled. Swiftly the canoe neared the chan¬ 
nel, but even more swiftly did the wind and 
waves drive it toward the breakers. 

“ If we are driven into the surf, Henri,” 
Le Gros called to his nephew, “ be sure to 
keep a good grip on your musket. A white 
man without his gun in this part of the world 
is helpless. Philippe, you don’t need to be 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 23 


told to take care of your bow and arrows. 
An Indian never forgets them. If we can’t 
reach the channel, I shall try to make the 
canoe ride one of the larger waves to the 
beach, or, at least, near enough to it so that 
we can wade ashore. No man can swim long 
in the icy water of this lake.” 

It soon became evident that if the open¬ 
ing in the bar were reached at all, it would 
be by the narrowest margin. Then, when 
the channel was only a hundred yards away, 
an enormous wave raised its crest just out¬ 
side the little craft. It was followed by two 
others of equal size. The first two carried 
the canoe a hundred feet toward the bar. 
The third broke over her. It was useless to 
attempt to resist the rushing torrent of water. 
Dropping their paddles, Henri and Le Gros 
seized their guns, while Philippe slung his 
bow and quiver over his neck. Gournay held 
a bundle more precious to him than were 
even their weapons to his companions, a 
bundle containing an altar-cloth, and wine 
and bread for the communion. 


24< A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Though nearly full of water, the canoe 
fortunately remained upright, but it was 
swung completely around. When fifty feet 
from the beach it sank. The three white men 
scrambled ashore, breasting their way against 
the pull of a terrific undertow. Philippe, 
however, was not with them. 

With the swinging about of the canoe, the 
lad had found himself, as it sank, at its 
outer end. As he leaped with the others, 
the dangling end of his bow caught under 
one of the cross-bars of the canoe. The un¬ 
expected pull of the bowstring upon his neck 
caused the boy to lose his balance, and he 
fell backward into the water. In an instant 
the undertow had swept him beyond his 
depth. Philippe was an excellent swimmer, 
and struck out confidently for the shore. To 
his surprise, however, his utmost efforts 
could not overcome the treacherous outward 
current, the backwash of the huge rollers. 

Bravely the boy struggled, but wave after 
wave broke over his head. Then, choking 
and gasping, he sank in the cold water. An- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 25 


other succession of great waves, rushing in 
from the lake, picked up the now still form 
of the lad and carried it nearly ashore. It 
was seized by Le Gros, who waded out 
shoulder-deep to meet it. The guide turned 
to carry his burden to the shore, but not even 
the strength of this giant could resist the 
> sweep of the piled-up waters as they re¬ 
turned to the lake. Still clinging to his bur¬ 
den, he was carried out into deep water. 

With the confidence of one accustomed to 
all the emergencies of frontier life, Le Gros 
swam coolly, and with all his great strength. 
He directed his course, not toward the shore, 
but toward the channel. It was a hard 
struggle. To the anxious watchers on the 
beach it seemed almost impossible that the 
swimmer could win. Time and again the 
foaming breakers covered him, but always, 
when the wave had passed, his sturdy form 
reappeared, swimming steadily and strongly, 
and still supporting its precious burden. 

Aided by the current, Le Gros finally 
reached the edge of the channel. Here he 


26 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


was out of the dangerous surf, and here he 
found another helpful current, for the water 
of the lake, raised by the storm, rushed like 
a mill-race into the bay. Soon the guide 
reached the shallow water on the inner side 
of the point, and waded ashore. 

Le Gros was none the worse for his ex¬ 
perience, and rough-and-ready treatment 
soon restored Philippe to consciousness. 
Meantime, with flint and steel and tinder 
from a waterproof box that he carried, the 
priest had kindled a driftwood fire in the 
shelter of a clump of pines. Clothes were 
dried, and chilled bodies warmed. Then the 
four travelers sat down to take stock of their 
losses. Under the circumstances these were 
not serious. Blankets, food, and the reserve 
supply of ammunition had been swept away, 
and Father Gournav had lost his hat. But 
these things could all be replaced when junc¬ 
tion was made again with the main party. 
The guns had been saved. Even Philippe’s 
bow and quiver dangled from his shoulders 
as he was carried ashore. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 27 

“ Is the powder in your horn dry, Henri? ” 
Le Gros asked, as he drew the wet charge 
from his gun, to replace it with a dry one. 
Henri tried to pour some of the contents 
of his powder-horn into his hand, but it was 
caked with moisture. 

“ I thought as much,” continued the guide. 
“ Well, work the wet stuff out with a stick, 
and I will give you some of my dry powder. 
Then, when you get a chance, seal every 
crevice in your horn with pitch, and you will 
have dry powder, even though you get soaked 
yourself.” 

While Henri was carrying out his uncle’s 
instructions, Philippe had unstrung his bow, 
and now proceeded to dry the cord, as well 
as two spare strings that he carried. His 
arrows, too, were carefully wiped, and dried 
before the fire. As he took these necessary 
precautions with the weapons so vital to ex¬ 
istence in the forest, the boy’s dark eyes 
studied in turn the faces of his companions. 

“ How I get out of lake? ” he asked 
finally. “ I thought I drown.” 


28 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

In a few words the priest told of the res¬ 
cue. Then the lad’s luminous eyes met those 
of the guide. 

“ Philippe very glad,” he said. “ Le Gros 
very strong, very brave. Le Gros and 
Philippe be good friends.” 

The rough frontiersman felt a sudden leap 
of the heart as he looked into the bright, in¬ 
telligent face, so lighted with gratitude. In 
fact, something about the lad had appealed 
to him at their first meeting, a month before. 
It was at Michillimackinac, the French mis¬ 
sion station and fort on the strait between 
Lakes Michigan and Huron. Here the boy 
had been brought by a French priest from 
his home on the Illinois River. For a year 
he had studied in the school maintained for 
Indian boys, had learned a little French, and 
had been given the name Philippe. Of this 
French title he was very proud, though he 
still retained a fondness for the name, “ The 
Brown One,” which, because of the color of 
his hair, had been given him by his Indian 
companions. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 29 


When Henri Minet, a son of a sister of 
Le Gros, arrived at the fort with a band of 
traders returning from Montreal, he and 
Philippe had become fast friends. It fol¬ 
lowed naturally, therefore, that when Le 
Gros was requested by the priest, Father 
Gournay, to organize a small party for a 
long journey, he should choose the two boys 
as his companions. 

The guide returned the friendly gaze of 
the young half-blood. 

“ Aye, lad,” he said heartily. “ I think 
we were pretty good friends already, and 
we will not like each other less for the little 
experience in the water. You are a good 
swimmer, but Lake Superior isn’t like your 
smooth Illinois. When you get into the surf, 
and the waves go over you, keep your mouth 
shut. You may think you will burst unless 
you open it, but keep it shut. Then you will 
bob up like a cork, and can empty your 
lungs before the next wave hits you.” 

With their equipment dried and guns re¬ 
loaded, the party was ready to resume its 


30 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


journey. This must now be by land, for the 
canoe had been completely wrecked by the 
surf. For an hour the four walked over the 
hard surface of the wet sand before they 
reached the foot of the high, rocky bluffs 
that lined the northern shore of the lake and 
bay. By this time the sun had set, so camp 
was made. On beds of pine needles the four 
travelers slept the sound sleep of the healthy 
and the weary. 


CHAPTER III 


On the morning after the storm, Henri 
and Philippe were up with the sun. A 
plunge in the cool waters of the bay, fol¬ 
lowed by a run on the beach, took all the 
sleep out of their eyes. 

“ Let’s climb the hill back of the camp 
while my uncle is getting breakfast,” said 
Henri. He was a strong, heavy-set lad, with 
a shock of brown hair, and blue eyes like his 
uncle’s. Brought up on one of the seign¬ 
iories, or feudal estates, that lined the St. 
Lawrence River, he had been accustomed 
since earliest boyhood to the hardships as 
well as to the fun of frontier farm-life. He 
could fish, trap, and hunt with the skill of 
one who does these things as part of the 
day’s work, and not simply for pleasure. As 
he was the oldest boy in a large family, he 

had come to the far west to earn his own 

31 


32 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


way, and to help supply the needs of the 
home on the St. Lawrence. 

The hill was long and steep, but when the 
top was reached, the view proved to be worth 
the climb. The gale of yesterday had blown 
itself out, and the surface of the lake was 
like glass. Along the outer bar, however, 
there was still a white line of surf, where 
smooth, round rollers broke on the sand. 
To the south and west lay the great double 
harbor now called Bay St. Louis, shaped like 
a huge figure-eight. Beyond was the dark 
green of pine forests, stretching to the hori¬ 
zon. 

“ See, many canoe! ” cried Philippe sud¬ 
denly, pointing eastward along the rugged 
shore of the lake. Looking in the direction 
indicated, Henri saw twenty or more tiny 
specks on the shining surface of the lake. 
They seerped no larger than water-fowl, but 
Henri agreed that they must be what Phi¬ 
lippe had called them, canoes. 

A moment later the white boy shouted in 
his turn, “ See, more canoes! They are com- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 33 

ing through the channel that we tried to 
make yesterday.” 

“ And more canoes there,” exclaimed 
Philippe, his brown eyes dancing with ex¬ 
citement as he pointed to the southwest, 
where another cluster of dots showed on the 
distant waters of the bay. “ Ail come to big 
council. Have much talk, smoke peace-pipe, 
play games, and French give many presents. 
Give some to warrior, some to squaw, some 
to papoose, some to everybody.” And in 
anticipation of this great event, to him what 
a circus is to a modern boy, Philippe threw 
back his head and laughed merrily. Then 
he leaped from the rock where he sat, and 
raced with reckless speed down the steep 
hillside, to impart the news to the guide. 

“ Aye, the Indians will flock to this coun¬ 
cil like crows to a cornfield,” said the good- 
natured giant. “ Du Luth has been to Paris, 
and it is said that he even talked with the 
king himself. For two months past, couriers 
have been traveling far and wide, inviting 
the tribes to send their chief men to receive 


34 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


the word which the great white father sends 
to his children. They know well that the 
bearer of such a message will not come with 
empty hands. Big and little will be here to 
share in the presents.” 

“ How is it they all get here together? ” 
asked Henri, who had come up in time to 
catch the last of Le Gros’ remarks. “ It 
must have been many weeks since the invi¬ 
tation was given to some of them, and here 
they all come on the same morning, as if 
they had been asked only yesterday.” 

The guide looked at the boy in surprise. 
“ How is it they all get here at the same 
time? ” he repeated with a touch of scorn in 
his voice. “ That’s what comes of spending 
one’s time hoeing beans and corn in the 
settlements. Well, the Indians didn’t have 
those little ticking things that some of the 
officers carry, that’s sure. Philippe, how do 
you suppose these ignorant savages knew 
when to come to the council? ” 

Philippe’s merry laugh pealed forth again 


m answer. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 35 


“ Henri see new moon last night, first 
time? ” he asked. 

Henri nodded his head. 

“ Well,” continued the half-breed, “ mes¬ 
sengers say council begin first day after new 
moon, so of course all be here to-day.” 

After breakfast a half-hour’s walk west¬ 
ward brought the four to the base of the long 
sandy spit which separates the upper and 
lower portions of the bay. Another quarter 
of an hour brought them to its point. 
Hardly had they arrived there before the 
canoes that had been seen entering the lower 
bay came in sight. They carried the party 
of French and Indians from which Le Gros 
and his companions had separated the day 
before. In a few minutes they passed the 
point, as in review, breasting a swift cur¬ 
rent to gain the still water of the upper bay. 

In the first canoe sat the leader of the ex¬ 
pedition, Du Luth. Dressed in a brocaded 
coat, velvet knickerbockers, and silk stock¬ 
ings, his hair in long flowing curls, partly 
covered by a plumed hat, he presented a 


36 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


striking contrast to the three nearly naked 
Indians who paddled his canoe. Very dif¬ 
ferent was this splendid costume from the 
rough garb usually worn by this hardy ad¬ 
venturer ; but nothing was now to be omitted 
that might impress the simple minds of the 
savages with the power and wealth of the 
French nation. 

In the canoe with Du Luth sat a small, 
wiry man dressed in garments of deerskin. 
He waved one hand, his only one, in reply to 
the greetings of Le Gros and the priest. He 
was Henri de Tonty, an Italian officer in 
the service of the famous explorer, La Salle. 
Tonty was considered one of the most dar¬ 
ing men on the frontier. He certainly was 
one of the most successful in his dealings 
with the Indians. From Fort St. Louis on 
the distant Illinois, where he commanded for 
La Salle, he had led a band of Illinois war¬ 
riors to the council. 

In the second canoe sat five men, very 
different in their attire from Du Luth and 
his companion. They were Jesuit priests; 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 37 


Black Robes, they were called by the In¬ 
dians, because of their long, black gowns. 
The garb of these men seemed no more out 
of place in this wilderness than did their 
faces. Pale and thin from long fasts and 
vigils, their countenances indicated deep 
thought and meditation, rather than resolu¬ 
tion and reckless daring such as character¬ 
ized the faces of Du Luth and Tonty. In 
this canoe alone, of the entire flotilla, no 
weapons were to be seen. The members of 
the Company of Jesus relied for the success 
of their work, not upon gun and tomahawk, 
but upon the powers of spirit and intellect. 

In the next half dozen canoes was a mot¬ 
ley company of French adventurers and 
traders. Some of the faces showed intelli¬ 
gence and character, but most bore the 
marks of reckless, vicious living. To the 
greater part of these “ coureurs de bois,” as 
they were called, the liberty of the forest 
meant only license for evil living. They 
gave little heed to the laws of either God or 


man. 


38 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

Last in the procession came the Indians, 
the guests at the council, two hundred or 
more in number. They represented half a 
dozen tribes whose homes were on or near 
the Great Lakes. There were Shawnees 
from the Ohio, Miamis, Winnebagoes, and 
Menominees from Lake Michigan, Foxes 
from the river of that name in Wisconsin, 
and Tonty’s band of Illinois. 

The previous afternoon had been spent 
by the warriors on their toilets. Now they 
appeared in all the brilliance of savage 
splendor. Naked as most of them were, 
except for a breech-clout, they were painted 
from head to foot with the most dazzling de¬ 
signs in red, yellow, and black. The women 
among them were more modest in their dec¬ 
orations. Their principal ornaments were 
bracelets and strings of beads. Some, how¬ 
ever, were the proud possessors of gorgeous 
shawls of European manufacture, and these 
were worn over deerskin tunics, regardless 
of discomfort from summer heat. 

Most of the Indians were armed with bows 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 39 


of their own make; bows of oak, hickory, or 
white ash. Their knives and tomahawks 
were of French manufacture, as were the 
iron points of their arrows. The French 
were very slow to supply their Indian allies 
with firearms. They realized that such a 
course would soon threaten their own su¬ 
premacy. They were glad, however, to give 
the lesser weapons in return for the valuable 
furs of the natives. Frontier commerce con¬ 
sisted almost wholly of such exchanges. 

Scarcely had the last canoe passed the end 
of the point, and turned in to its western 
shore, when the flotilla that had been seen 
in the southwest arrived. It carried a band 
of Chippewas, from the gloomy region about 
the headwaters of the Mississippi. Floating 
down that stream, carrying their canoes over 
a long portage through the forest, thence 
again by canoe down the St. Louis River, 
they now arrived as punctually as though 
they had possessed all the advantages of 
modern trains and time-tables. 

Soon came the third party. Old friends 


40 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


of the French were these, Hurons or 
Wyandots. A third of a century earlier 
these Indians had been driven from their 
homes on Lake Huron by the ferocious Iro¬ 
quois. Since then they had drifted, a mere 
remnant of a once powerful nation, from 
the Ottawa to the Mississippi. They now 
had a temporary home on the northern shore 
of Lake Superior. 

As the day advanced more Indians ar¬ 
rived. Outagamies came overland from the 
headwaters of the Wisconsin. Knisteneaux 
came over the rugged hills from the wilder¬ 
ness that lies north of the lake. Finally 
came a strong delegation of the powerful 
and haughty Dacotahs, or Sioux, well named 
the “ Iroquois of the West.” 

To all these arrivals Du Luth gave a cor¬ 
dial but simple greeting. The formal wel¬ 
come must wait until all the guests had ar¬ 
rived and the council had opened. In the 
meantime food was placed before the In¬ 
dians, and hunters and fishermen were sent 
out to supply the needs of the morrow. 


CHAPTER IV 


At ten o’clock of the day following the 
arrival of the French and their savage guests 
at Bay St. Louis, Sieur du Luth walked out 
before the assembled Indians, to bid them 
welcome to the great council. He was still 
attired in the elaborate costume which he 
had worn on the previous day. As the 
French leader moved with ceremonious 
stateliness toward his place, the hush of ab¬ 
solute quiet fell upon the audience. 

The company had been gathered in two 

concentric rings. The inner consisted of the 

Jesuits, Tonty, and the chiefs who headed 

their respective delegations. They were 

seated on the sand. The front rank of the 

outer ring consisted of the older Frenchmen, 

and of the warriors of renown. Back of 

them sat or stood the young men, the squaws, 

and the children. Altogether some five hun- 

41 


42 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


dred people were gathered on the sandy 
point. 

Du Luth carried in his hand the “ calu¬ 
met,” or pipe of peace. This was no small 
pocket affair like the modern pipe. Long 
of stem, six inches in length and height, and 
half as wide, it must have weighed fully ten 
pounds. It was carved from the red clay- 
stone found in the sacred quarries of the 
Sioux in southwestern Minnesota. The 
carving represented an Indian crouched 
double, with his arms resting upon his thighs. 
The head was thrown far back, so that the 
smoker looked squarely into the figure’s 
grotesque and impudent face. The bowl 
consisted of a hole drilled in the creature’s 
back. 

Taking a few puffs himself, Du Luth 
handed the pipe to one of the chiefs. Then 
it was passed slowly around the inner circle. 
By partaking of the pipe, the smokers ex¬ 
pressed the friendliness of their purpose in 
attending the council. 

Du Luth now addressed the company in 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 43 


the grave manner affected by Indian orators. 
First he welcomed the entire assembly; then 
he called up the leader of each delegation in 
turn. So wide had been the speaker’s travels 
among the various tribes, that, with one or 
two exceptions, these leaders were known to 
him personally. Assurances of respect and 
of friendship from the governor at Quebec, 
and even from the king himself, were ex¬ 
tended to some who for years had been faith¬ 
ful allies of the French. 

The friendly words of the speaker were 
reinforced by gifts, and by the presentation 
of belts of wampum. The gifts were for the 
chiefs themselves. The belts were to be 
carried to the homes of the tribes, and there 
preserved as records of the proceedings of 
the council. 

The replies of the chiefs were as grave and 
dignified as were the words of Du Luth. 
Each in turn expressed his appreciation of 
the welcome he had received as the represen¬ 
tative of his tribe. Some were loud in their 
protestations of friendship and loyalty to 


44 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


the French. Others, including the leader of 
the Dacotahs, were non-committal. All, 
however, accepted the gifts that had been of¬ 
fered. 

The speeches were all of great length, and 
following each was a long pause in which the 
next speaker was supposed to meditate upon 
the words he had just heard before making 
his reply. As a consequence, at the end of 
three hours not half the delegations had been 
heard from. The chiefs and older warriors 
still sat as quietly as at the beginning, but 
little stirrings among the younger people 
denoted a waning of interest in the proceed¬ 
ings. 

During one of the long pauses, Philippe, 
who sat near Henri, leaned over toward his 
comrade and whispered, “ Henri have hooks 
and lines in pocket? ” 

Henri nodded in the affirmative. 

“ Then we go fishing,” Philippe sug¬ 
gested. “ Tired of so much talk.” 

Henri was of much the same mind as 
Philippe, for to him all the speeches, given 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 45 

in the tongues of the various tribes, were 
unintelligible. When another pause came, 
the two moved away, going as quietly as if 
they were leaving a church in the midst of 
a service. Without asking any questions of 
its owner, Philippe appropriated a canoe that 
belonged to one of his Illinois friends. In a 
quarter of an hour the boys were busy pull¬ 
ing in great salmon-trout. When a com¬ 
motion on the point indicated that the coun¬ 
cil had broken up for the day, the two lads 
returned with their catch, over thirty good 
fish. 

“ These are pretty fine eating, Philippe,” 
said Le Gros an hour or two later, as he 
attacked his second baked trout. Like an 
Indian, he was always ready for a feast, thus 
making up for the fasts that were at times 
unavoidable in life in the forest. “ I don’t 
blame you boys much for preferring a fish¬ 
ing-trip to long, dry talks, but I think you 
would have enjoyed the last speech that was 
made. It was an announcement of the pro¬ 
gram for the rest of the council.” 


46 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


“ Have games? ” asked Philippe, all at¬ 
tention. 

“ Yes,” answered the guide. “ There will 
be games every morning, and the council will 
sit in the afternoons. That will last for per¬ 
haps three or four days. After that Du 
Luth will give a great farewell feast.” 

Le Gros then went into details regarding 
the character and rules of the coming games. 
Any one person was restricted to two entries. 
The prizes were knives, tomahawks, and iron 
arrow-heads for the men and boys, cloth and 
beads for the women and girls. There were 
to be contests in running, jumping, canoe¬ 
racing, and swimming; also in the throwing 
of tomahawks and knives, and in shooting 
with bows and arrows. 

After the meal was finished, Henri and 
Philippe engaged in a long discussion about 
their chances of winning the various con¬ 
tests. Finally Henri chose to enter one of 
the swimming events and a long-distance 
running-race. Philippe decided upon a 
knife-throwing contest and a short-distance 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 47 

running-race for boys of about his age. 
Knives were offered as prizes for both these 
events, and the boy was very anxious to win 
one of them. 

“No like old knife,” he said. He drew 
the weapon from his belt and offered it to 
Henri and Le Gros for inspection. It was, 
indeed, a disreputable-looking instrument. 
Apparently it had been made from a piece 
of iron barrel-hoop, ground into the shape 
of a knife-blade, and fitted with a rough 
wooden handle. Its quality was as poor as 
its appearance. It had been given to Phi¬ 
lippe by one of the warriors of his tribe, 
who had obtained a better one from a French 
trader. 

It was now dark, and in the light of the 
camp-fire Le Gros watched the two lads as 
they discussed the coming games. A 
thoughtful expression was on his face. 

“ Philippe,” he said, after the boys had 
decided upon their part in the sports, 
“ Philippe, you are a half-breed, are you 
not? ” 


48 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

“ Y r es,” answered the boy. “No know 
father, no know mother, but think mother 
Creek Indian, and father English. Live 
with uncle, and he not tell me when I ask 
him.” 

A trace of disappointment showed in the 
face of the guide, as Philippe mentioned the 
English. 

“ I had hoped you were part French,” he 
said, “ but perhaps it doesn’t matter.” After 
a pause he continued, “ You know how In¬ 
dians live, and, now that you have been to 
school with the priests, you know something 
of the white man’s life. Do you wish to 
grow up to be like a white man, or like an 
Indian? ” 

A bright light leaped into the boy’s face. 

“ Could I be like Sieur de la Salle, or like 
Sieur de Tonty? ” he asked wonderingly. 

“ Perhaps you may never be as great as 
these men,” the guide answered, “ but you 
can be just as honest and just as good.” 

“ Then Philippe live like white man,” said 
the boy. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 49 


“ That is easy to say,” continued the 
guide, “ but it may not be so easy to do. In 
your games with the Illinois boys, did you 
ever cheat and lie to win? ” 

“ Of course,” replied the lad, his brown 
eyes dancing. “ They no catch Philippe 
when he cheat. Philippe too smart to be 
caught.” 

“ Yes, that’s the Indian way,” said the 
guide. “ Cheating is considered part of the 
game. No harm is meant by it, so I sup¬ 
pose it is all right for them. But did Sieur 
de la Salle ever lie to his Indian friends? ” 
“ La Salle always tell truth; never cheat 
Indians,” the boy answered. 

“ I thought so,” said Le Gros. “ I know 
him well. He is the kind of a man who 
would tell the truth, even if he suffered for 
it. That is the way a white man is taught 
to live, and the way he should live.” 

Nothing more was said upon the subject, 
and soon the three were in their blankets. 
Le Gros and Henri fell asleep immediately, 
but Philippe was too much excited to fol- 


50 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


low their example at once. He lay gazing 
at the stars, his active mind reviewing all the 
contests in running and knife-thro wing in 
which he had ever engaged. Strong and 
lithe of body, he had been successful in most 
of these. He had, however, never contended 
for such prizes as were now offered,—prizes 
that assured the keenest kind of competition. 

For an hour Philippe lay awake, planning 
for the great events; then, as sleep finally 
crept into his eyes and brain, the twinkling 
stars were transformed into shining, gleam¬ 
ing knives, thousands of them, that floated 
just out of reach. They were all to be his 
when he attained the goal toward which he 
dreamed he was running. 



CHAPTER V 


In his life with the Illinois Indians, 
Philippe had been thrown much with two or 
three French officers,—young men who had 
taken a liking to the bright-eyed, cheery- 
faced lad. They had taught him some of 
the simpler rules of training for the athletic 
games common among Indians. Following 
what he remembered of their suggestions, 
Philippe, on each of the next few days, rose 
early, took a plunge in the cold waters of 
the bay, and rubbed down briskly. He fol¬ 
lowed with a half-mile trot along the smooth, 
hard beach. 

The two contests in which the boy was to 
take part were scheduled for the next-to- 
last day of the conference. By that time 
he was in the pink of condition,—his brain 
clear, his nerves steady, and his muscles like 
springs of steel. 


51 



52 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

Meantime the contests for which Henri 
had entered his name had taken place. The 
peasant lad did well in the swimming event, 
finishing a close second. In the long-dis¬ 
tance run, however, he was no match for the 
more rangy Indians. He came in in fifth 
place. 

The first event in which Philippe took part 
was the knife-throwing contest for young 
men and the older boys. A whitened log of 
driftwood had been set on end in the sand. 
The target was a black knot an inch in 
diameter, which showed clearly against the 
bleached wood. The range was twenty feet. 
Each contestant was allowed three throws. 

There was, first, an elimination contest, 
in which Philippe was easily one of the win¬ 
ners. A second elimination left only the 
half-breed and a Dacotah lad named Leap¬ 
ing Deer. The young Sioux was perhaps a 
year older than Philippe, and was somewhat 
larger. His father, the Wolf, an old chief 
of renown in council and battle, was leader 
of the Dacotah delegation. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 53 

In the final contest the two lads threw in 
turn, the Sioux first. The knife struck fairly 
on its point, five inches from the mark. 
Philippe followed, but missed by six inches. 
The Sioux’s second throw was better than 
his first, and Philippe’s heart sank a little as 
he saw the keen blade quivering within four 
inches of the center of the knot. His own 
throw was good, however, and came within 
three inches. The two were now tied, and 
interest ran high among the spectators. 
There were whoops and yells that would 
have done credit to a high-school cheer¬ 
leader. Much advice was showered upon the 
young contestants as to how they should 
make the last trial. 

Leaping Deer made an excellent throw. 
His knife missed the mark by not more than 
an inch and a half. His supporters were 
wild with delight. 

As Philippe prepared to make his last 
cast, he was almost deafened by the roar of 
the crowd. He was its favorite, for the 
Sioux were too much feared by their neigh- 


54 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


bors to be liked. Illinois, Chippewas, 
Hurons, and Outagamies,—all joined in 
“ rooting ” for the young half-breed. 

Calm and steady amid the din, Philippe 
made his throw. There was a howl of de¬ 
light as the point of the knife struck squarely 
on the knot. It was followed by a wail of 
disappointment, however, for the weapon 
rebounded and fell to the ground. The knot 
was too hard for the wretched material of 
which the knife was made, and the point had 
turned instead of penetrating the dense 
wood. As the rules required that the knife 
must remain sticking in the wood, the prize 
was given to the Dacotah boy. Philippe 
turned away with a lump in his throat. It 
was hard to lose such a prize through no 
fault of his own. 

An hour later the runners for the race in 
which Philippe was to take part were called. 
There were six entries. Again Leaping 
Deer was one of Philippe’s opponents. 

In this race the boys were to start at a 
line drawn in the sand. At a distance of a 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 55 


hundred paces a pole was supported hori¬ 
zontally on forked sticks driven in the 
ground. The contestants were to start at the 
report of a musket-shot, run to the pole, 
touch it, and return to the starting-line. 
The hunting-knife, which was to be given to 
the winner, was hung from a post just back 
of the goal, as if to inspire the runners to 
their greatest efforts as they sped toward 
it in the finish of the race. 

The boys lined up for the start. Five 
stood, leaning ahead, waiting for the signal. 
But Philippe, like a modern sprinter, 
crouched until his hands rested upon the 
ground, that the full strength of arms, body, 
and legs might go into the first, cat-like 
spring. It was a trick the lad had learned 
from his French coaches on the Illinois. 
There were laughter and good-natured ban¬ 
ter from the crowd and from the other run¬ 
ners as thev saw the half-breed take this un- 
usual position, but some of the wiser heads 
nodded in approval. 

“ The Brown One crouches like a pan- 


56 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


ther,” said one gray-haired chief. “ If he 
springs as fast and as far, the other runners 
will stop laughing in trying to catch him.” 

The old man spoke truly. At the report 
of the musket, Philippe’s lithe body shot 
through the air like an arrow from a bow, 
and he was a yard and a half ahead of his 
nearest competitor, again the Dacotah. As 
Philippe neared the pole at the half-way 
point of the course, still a yard ahead of the 
Sioux, he gave a great leap forward, and 
landed feet first, with his right hand resting 
on the ground. He planned to land in such 
a position that his left hand could just touch 
the stick. Then, with another panther-like 
spring, he would be off on the home-stretch. 
The plan was excellent, but the boy missed 
in its execution by half an inch. The tips 
of his fingers lacked that much of reaching 
their mark. 

Two Indians were stationed at this end 
of the course, to see that the pole was 
touched by each runner. Philippe glanced 
hastily over his shoulder at them, but their 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 57 


impassive faces gave no sign that they had 
noticed his failure to observe the rules of the 
race, so, like an arrow, the boy was off to¬ 
ward the final goal. He crossed the line a 
foot ahead of Leaping Deer. 

As Tonty, the one-armed Italian, master 
of sports for the day, was about to present 
the prize to Philippe, one of the two Indians 
who had watched the other end of the course 
touched his arm. 

“ The Brown One springs like a panther 
and runs like a young buck,” he said, “ but 
he forgot to touch the pole.” 

Tonty turned to the man’s companion for 
confirmation of the charge. But this other 
Indian was an Illinois, and, either because he 
had not noticed Philippe’s failure to observe 
the rules, or because he wished to favor one 
of his own tribe, he declared that not only 
had he seen the boy’s hand touch the stick, 
but that he had seen the pole shake at the 
touch. Tonty turned to Philippe. 

“ The judges do not agree,” he said. 
“ The Brown One must himself tell us 


58 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


whether or not he ran the race according to 
the rules/’ 

Philippe looked Tonty squarely in the 
face, then his glance swept around the circle 
of French and Indians. His gaze was that 
of perfect frankness and truth, but in his 
heart was the deceitfulness of his boyhood 
training. 

“ Y r es,” he began, and the words ran glibly 
from his tongue; “ yes, Philippe touch pole 
so.” He put the tips of his fingers upon 
Tonty’s arm. As he did so he found himself 
looking into the eyes of Le Gros. Philippe’s 
gaze fell. A look of indecision, even of pain, 
swej)t over his face. There shot through his 
mind his statement of the night before, that 
he would live the life of a white man. He 
thought also of the guide’s warning, that, as 
a white man, he must stick to the truth at all 
costs. 

“ Yes, I will do that,” he thought; “ but 
I will begin to-morrow, not to-day; not to¬ 
day, and lose the prize again. Perhaps, too, 
my fingers did touch the pole, and I was so 



He crossed the line a foot ahead of Leaping Deer. 

Page 57. 










































































































A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 59 


excited that I did not notice it. I think they 
must have touched the pole.” 

He opened his mouth to repeat the lie, but 
again he met the guide’s friendly, honest 
look. Then he made his decision. Again he 
looked Tonty in the face, this time with real 
honesty in his eyes. 

“No,” he said, pushing aside the prize 
which the Italian offered him. “ Philippe 
not win race. Philippe tell lie; not touch 
pole.” 

As he spoke, hot tears of disappointment 
filled his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. 
In shame and anger he dashed them away, 
then turned and ran at top speed through 
the wondering crowd and away along the 
beach. Something hard thumped against his 
side as he ran. He knew it was the cheap, 
heavy knife that had lost him the first con¬ 
test. In a rush of fierce anger and resent¬ 
ment he drew the weapon from his belt, and 
flung it far out into the bay. Then he 
walked with more composure over the sand 
toward the hills of the mainland. 


60 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


An interesting custom, common to many 
Indian tribes, required that when a boy 
reached the age of sixteen or seventeen, he 
should go apart from his people for a period 
of several days. In some lonely spot, per¬ 
haps a bluff overlooking a lake, perhaps a 
butte rising from the prairie, he fasted and 
prayed. Troubled dreams, the result of ex¬ 
citement and hunger, came to him, and were 
thought to be visions revealing to the 
dreamer his life-work. He was to be a war¬ 
rior, an orator, or a medicine-man. 

Such a time of decision had now come to 
Philippe. He would make his choice, how¬ 
ever, not through a dream in the night, but 
through hard thinking in the broad light of 
day. Such was the demand of the white 
blood that ran in his veins. Slowly the boy 
climbed to the highest point of the rugged 
hills that border the bay. Here, on a frag¬ 
ment of trap-rock, he sat down. 

For hours Philippe remained almost mo¬ 
tionless, thinking. His mind wandered back 
over the years spent in the woods and on the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 61 


prairies that bordered the peaceful Illinois. 
He thought of the sports, the games, the 
feasts, the pleasures of the hunt. He 
thought, too, of the hunger that sometimes 
came after the feasts, of the bitter cold com¬ 
bined with hunger, when, in winter, the deep 
snows made fuel and game almost impossible 
to obtain. He thought of the torture of fear 
that had swept over the whole nation when 
they were driven from their homes and scat¬ 
tered far and wide by the attacks of the 
ferocious Iroquois. 

Then the boy’s troubled mind turned to 
the life of the French. He had seen their 
forts and trading-houses on the Illinois and 
at Michillimackinac, and he had pictured to 
himself the greater glories of Montreal and 
Quebec. He had noted the power of the 
French leaders over their Indian allies, the 
power of trained intellects over the minds 
of savages. He had observed, too, how some 
Frenchmen ruled over others, and he had 
seen inferiors cringe and whine before 
superiors. Such things were not known 


62 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


among his Indian associates, and his wild 
young nature rebelled against the thought of 
submitting to them. 

The sun sank behind the western hills; the 
long summer twilight came and went; night 
crept over lake, and forest, and rocky crag. 
A camp-fire on the sandy point far below 
twinkled like a star in the growing dark¬ 
ness. The boy gazed long at the tiny, flicker¬ 
ing point of light, and, as he looked, the 
decision he sought came to his mind and 
heart, for his imagination pictured before the 
fire the mighty frame and honest face of Le 
Gros. Then his mind went back to other 
camp-fires, on the banks of the Illinois, be¬ 
side which he had come to know and to revere 
the stern, but just and upright, La Salle. 
For the sake of these two men, and that he 
might in some degree be like them, he would, 
if need be, even renounce the free life of the 
forest, that he might cast his lot with the race 
of his unknown father. 


CHAPTER VI 


The darkness of a moonless night had 
settled over the camp when Philippe reached 
it. A few glowing embers only showed 
where groups of Indians or French slept 
with their feet to the dying coals. One fire 
alone gave forth an occasional jet of flame, 
and toward this the boy turned his steps. 
Soon a flicker of light revealed the bearded 
face and huge shoulders of the guide. With 
him was Du Luth. 

Philippe, in his quiet Indian fashion, 
glided up to the fire and sat down. For per¬ 
haps five minutes not a word was spoken. 
At last the guide broke the silence. 

“ Well, lad,” he said, and his voice was 
like a father’s; “ well, lad, how is it? ” 

“ Philippe live like white man,” the boy 
answered. “ Philippe not cheat any more.” 

“ I hoped you would come to that de¬ 
cision,” replied Le Gros. “ An Indian vil- 

63 


64 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


lage is a poor training-place for morality, as 
we white men see it, but I thought you 
would rise above the life of a savage. But 
where is your knife? ” he continued as his 
glance fell upon the empty belt. 

“ Philippe was very angry,” the boy re¬ 
plied rather shamefacedly. “ Threw old 
knife in lake.” 

“ That was bad,” said the guide. “ We all 
get angry at times, but to destroy our own 
property in our anger is just plain foolish¬ 
ness. I know that a poor knife tries one’s 
temper, but it is far better in the woods than 
none.” 

During this dialogue, Du Luth had sat in 
silence. His attention seemed to be fixed 
upon one of his feet. This member, thickly 
bandaged, was stretched stiffly toward the 
warmth of the fire. Strange as it may seem, 
this hardy explorer and adventurer was sub¬ 
ject to the gout, and was now suffering from 
one of its attacks. 

As Le Gros ceased speaking, a jet of 
flame sputtered for a moment from a burn- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 65 

ing pine-knot. In the flickering light Du 
Luth studied the face of the young half- 
breed. Evidently he was not displeased with 
what he found there. 

“ To-morrow,” he said, “ there is to be a 
great feast, following the morning’s games. 
I have offered a prize to the person who 
brings in the greatest quantity of fish for the 
feast, and another for the biggest fish. The 
prizes will be hunting-knives. I am well ac¬ 
quainted with this bay, and, if you wish, 
Philippe, I may be able to help you to win 
one of the prizes. Y r ou may know that a 
large river, that we call the St. Louis, 
empties into this bay. For two or three 
miles above its mouth, the river is wide and 
sluggish, and runs between low, marshy 
banks. There it is a feeding-place for stur¬ 
geon. I have a good fish-spear in my canoe. 
I should be glad to lend you both the canoe 
and the spear. You may win one of these.” 

Du Luth showed the boy the prizes which 
he was to offer the next day. They were not 
such knives as were usually supplied to the 


66 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

Indians. With their long, curved blades, 
and stag-horn handles, they were almost 
works of art. Philippe’s eyes shone as he 
accepted Du Luth’s offer of the canoe and 
spear. 

At the first flush of dawn on the follow¬ 
ing morning, Philippe shook Henri awake, 
and asked for his help in trying to land a 
sturgeon. 

“ A sturgeon,” repeated Henri, as he 
stretched himself sleepily. “ Y r ou can’t 
catch a sturgeon on the little hooks that we 
have.” 

“ But perhaps I can with this,” said Phi¬ 
lippe, as he proudly exhibited Du Luth’s 
spear. It was three-pronged, like Nep¬ 
tune’s trident, and was fitted with a light 
wooden handle, six or seven feet long. At¬ 
tached to it was a linen line, a hundred feet 
long. 

“ That looks pretty good,” exclaimed 
Henri, as he inspected the implement. “Are 
you intending to try for the prize that is 
offered for the biggest fish? ” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 67 

Philippe nodded his head in answer, and 
repeated what Du Luth had said about the 
probability of finding sturgeon in the river. 

The mouth of the river was some five 
miles southwest of the camp, and it was two 
miles further to the point where one might 
expect to find the sturgeon. 

“ Must hurry,” said Philippe. “ Must 
start fishing before sun come up.” 

The boy’s impatience, though natural 
enough, was hardly justified by the circum¬ 
stances. So long is the summer twilight in 
that high latitude that it still lacked an hour 
of sunrise when the fishing ground was 
reached. Philippe made a few preliminary 
casts with his spear, to accustom himself to 
its “ hang ” ; then he settled to his work. 

The boy stood in the bow of the canoe, his 
feet well apart. In his right hand he held 
the spear, poised for the throw; in his left, 
the coil of line. Henri, kneeling in the stern, 
propelled the canoe slowly and silently over 
the still water. He kept just outside the 
marshy growth that fringed the channel. 


68 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

After ten minutes of this slow progress, 
Philippe motioned to Henri to stop pad¬ 
dling. His quick eye had caught sight of a 
large fish feeding in the mud of the river’s 
bottom. Before the canoe drifted within 
throwing distance, however, there was a 
great swirl in the water, and the fish disap¬ 
peared. 

Twice was Philippe thus disappointed, but 
before long a third fish was sighted. He was 
a magnificent fellow, as large as the other 
two put together. Intent upon his morning 
meal of shell-fish, he had stirred up the mud 
of the bottom until the roily water concealed 
half his great length. 

When fifteen feet away, Philippe made 
his throw, and into it he put all the strength 
of his vigorous young muscles. The spear 
hit fairly, just back of the head. Then the 
boy dropped to his knees, and braced him¬ 
self for the coming struggle. 

The first rush of the sturgeon was for the 
deeper water of mid-channel. Fortunate it 
was that Philippe did not attempt to take 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 69 

the rush standing, for the canoe must surely 
have been overturned. As it was, water 
flowed over one gunwale before Henri could 
swing the craft about to follow the fish. 

For ten minutes the sturgeon battled 
valiantly,—diving, plunging, leaping, in his 
endeavor to rid himself of the iron that 
galled his flesh. He had been hard hit, how¬ 
ever, and gradually weakened from loss of 
blood. As his struggles became fainter, 
Philippe hauled in on his line until he had 
the fish alongside and at the surface. A 
blow of his tomahawk cleft the sturgeon’s 
skull, and the fight was over. 

Two hours later the various catches of the 
morning were laid at Du Luth’s feet. They 
consisted mostly of salmon-trout, some of 
which weighed as much as sixty pounds. 
There were two or three sturgeons of mod¬ 
erate size, but none of the fish approached 
Philippe’s in length or in weight. The 
coveted knife, the prize for bringing in the 
largest fish, was awarded to the half-breed 
boy. 


70 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

At noon of this day, the last of the athletic 
events was staged,—a wrestling-match for 
men. Each tribe had one or more entries, but 
the number of contestants was reduced by 
elimination contests until but two remained. 
To the chagrin of most of the Indians 
present, both of these two were Dacotahs. 
They were twin brothers, men of about 
thirty. Tall and powerful, and of fierce 
and aggressive dispositions, these chiefs 
were men of note in their tribe. Per¬ 
haps because of their close relationship, they 
had been given similar names. One was 
known as Black Eagle; the other as Red 
Eagle. 

The prize for this event was a package of 
a dozen iron arrow-points. This the two 
Eagles agreed to divide, instead of contend¬ 
ing for it. There being no further scheduled 
events, the crowd had begun to break up, 
when Le Gros held up his hand as a sign 
that he wished to speak. 

“ I did not enter my name for this con¬ 
test,” he said. “ I had no desire for the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 71 


prize, and I trusted to my friends, the young 
men of the lake tribes, to sustain the honor 
of their nations and of their allies, the 
French. But it seems that an evil spirit has 
weakened the muscles of my brothers; they 
have been overcome by the strangers from 
the west. I think no evil spirit has affected 
my muscles. I challenge the Black Eagle 
and the Red Eagle to wrestle with me, both 
at the same time. If I win, I ask no prize. 
If I lose, I will give each of the Eagles a 
good tomahawk.” 

A murmur of surprise and approval came 
from the assemblage. It had galled the 
pride of the lake Indians to acknowledge 
that two of the hated Sioux were better than 
their best. Le Gros was to them like a fel¬ 
low-tribesman, and his challenge to the win¬ 
ners was salve on the hurt to their pride. 

The two Dacotahs, stung by the contempt 
which Le Gros’ offer to meet both at once 
indicated, lost no time in accepting the chal¬ 
lenge. Then, while their new rival prepared 
for the contest, they disappeared momen- 


72 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


tarily among their fellow Sioux. Confident 
that the remaining contest would be but 
child’s play for them, they took advantage of 
the short delay to drink deeply from a jug 
of brandy that had been smuggled into their 
camp. 

Meantime Le Gros stripped to the same 
attire as his competitors, a simple breech- 
clout. His clothing he left with Philippe. 
As the giant walked out again before the 
crowd, with his enormous muscles, now fully 
exposed, rippling smoothly under his clear 
white skin, he looked like another Hercules. 
It seemed to his friends and admirers that 
such a man might triumph even over such 
odds as he had assumed. The hope found 
vent in loud calls and whoops of encourage¬ 
ment from the crowd. 

The only rule governing the contest was 
that when any part of a wrestler except his 
hands and his feet touched the ground, he 
lost. 

When the starting-signal was given, the 
two Dacotahs rushed upon their opponent 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 73 


in an attempt to sweep him from his feet. 
As well might they have attempted to up¬ 
root one of the pine-trees that crowned the 
neighboring hills. Foiled in this attack, they 
tried to lift Le Gros so as to throw him to 
the ground. They did, indeed, lift him from 
his feet, but so tightly did he grip their 
bodies in his bear-like grasp that they were 
unable to throw him without themselves go¬ 
ing to the ground with him. So the strug¬ 
gle went on, while the air rang with cries 
of encouragement to the white man from his 
many supporters. The Sioux band, how¬ 
ever, stood in silence. 

After ten minutes of struggle, the Daco- 
tah wrestlers paused to regain their breath. 
They were to have no breathing-spell, how¬ 
ever. As they stood panting a few feet 
apart, Le Gros rushed between them, seized 
them around their waists, lifted them like 
little children, and threw them to the ground. 
With such force did they strike, that their 
remaining breath was driven completely out 
of their bodies. 


74 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


The victorious guide, himself well winded 
by his tremendous exertions, and with sweat 
running in rivulets down his glistening skin, 
started slowly back to Philippe, to regain 
his clothing. He had not taken half a dozen 
steps, however, before he was startled by a 
warning cry from the boy. The two Daco- 
tah wrestlers, angered by the shame of their 
defeat, and fired by the brandy they had 
drunk, had seized their knives and were rush¬ 
ing upon the unarmed victor. 

It was a perilous moment for the good- 
natured giant, but he met it with the readi¬ 
ness of one whose life had been spent amid 
the dangers of the forest. Springing to the 
left, so as to have both of his assailants on 
one side, he met the attack of the nearest 
with a tremendous blow in the chest. The 
savage went down, but the swinging sweep 
of his knife, as he fell, cut the swelling mus¬ 
cles of the guide’s chest. Unmindful of the 
wound, in fact, not feeling it in the excite¬ 
ment of the moment, Le Gros turned to meet 
the attack of the second Dacotah. He was 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 75 


just in time, for already the gleaming blade 
of the Sioux’s knife was descending, to strike 
him in the back. A quick guard with the 
right arm stopped the blow; then a short, 
hard jab in the ribs landed the Dacotah on 
the ground beside his brother. 

In an instant the Eagles were on their 
feet, to renew the attack, but Philippe acted 
even more quickly. Seizing his own new 
knife and that of Le Gros, he sprang to the 
side of the guide and thrust the two weapons 
into his hands. Seeing their foe as well 
armed as themselves, the Eagles now became 
more cautious. Crouching like panthers, 
they circled about the Frenchman, looking 
for an opening. 

The whoops and yells that had greeted the 
guide’s victory had now changed into short, 
fierce cries of anger, as his supporters noted 
the treacherous action of the vanquished 
wrestlers. Menacing looks were turned 
upon the band of forty or fifty Sioux, who 
stood at one side of the ring. The Dacotahs 
themselves, in anticipation of an attack, 


76 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


formed their fighting men in a circle, inside 
of which were their squaws and children. 
The two Eagles, sobered by the seriousness 
of the situation which they had brought 
about, joined their comrades. 

Silence settled over the point, a silence 
soon broken by the piercing war-cry of the 
Chippewas, eager for an opportunity to 
square accounts with their ancient enemies. 
The Sioux braced themselves for the attack. 
Then Du Luth, followed by thirty armed 
Frenchmen, rushed between the two Indian 
bands. Forming in two lines, back to back, 
they faced the savages with cocked muskets. 

The French leader was still dressed in the 
elaborate costume which he had worn 
throughout the period of the council, but his 
face was no longer that of the suave courtier 
seeking the favor of his dusky guests. His 
jaw was set, and his eyes flashed in anger as 
he faced the Chippewas. For fully a minute 
he stood in silence. When he spoke, his 
voice was hard, almost contemptuous. 

“ What is the meaning of these war-cries. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 77 

and of these drawn weapons? ” he asked, 
addressing the chiefs of the Chippewas. 
“ Are not the Dacotahs my guests, equally 
with you? Did not you as well as they 
smoke the calumet, the peace-pipe, which I 
offered you? Would you now violate even 
your own customs, and treacherously attack 
them protected by the calumet? Know then 
that he who lifts a finger against one of these 
my guests before the end of this council, 
makes an enemy of me. I have spoken.” 

Faced by the menacing look of the white 
leader, and the equally menacing muzzles of 
the leveled guns, the bravest among the 
Chippewas quailed. The war-cries died 
upon their lips, knives and tomahawks were 
restored to deerskin belts, and the angry 
band silently dispersed. When it was seen 
that Le Gros had come out of the fray with¬ 
out serious injury, the excitement subsided, 
and the disturbance to the calm of the coun¬ 
cil was soon forgotten. 


CHAPTER VII 


Of the Indian tribes represented at the 
great council, one, the Sioux, was feared and 
hated above all the others. Through diplo¬ 
macy and hard fighting, these fine warriors 
had made themselves masters of a broad belt 
of territory stretching from Lake Superior 
nearly to the Rocky Mountains. Numerous, 
sagacious, of high military spirit, neighbor¬ 
ing tribes did well not to incur their enmity. 

Realizing that they were but a handful 
amidst a host of actual or possible enemies, 
the Sioux delegates had wisely fixed their 
camp fully half a mile from the bivouacs of 
the other Indians. As the season was mid¬ 
summer, no shelters had been erected. These 
hardy savages paid little attention to an 
occasional shower, or to a chilling breeze 
from off the cold lake. Their clothing and 
blankets of deerskin gave all the protection 

they needed or desired. 

78 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 79 


The night after the encounter between Le 
Gros and his Sioux opponents was very 
dark. The moon, now well through its first 
quarter, was concealed by dense clouds. To 
eyes which had been gazing into the bright 
glare of a camp-fire, the darkness was im¬ 
penetrable. Only as the eye became accus¬ 
tomed to the gloom could the faint outlines 
of point, and bay, and surrounding hills be 
discerned. 

In this obscurity a black figure silently 
approached the Dacotah encampment. It 
was that of the Jesuit priest, Father Gour- 
nay. As he neared the camp-fire around 
which the Sioux were gathered, the sounds 
of earnest discussion caused him to halt. He 
was perhaps fifty paces from the group, but, 
in the quiet of the night, most of the con¬ 
versation came to him with perfect distinct¬ 
ness. 

The priest was one of those rare men who 
are born with a gift for acquiring strange 
tongues. With him, a word or a phrase once 
heard seemed never to be forgotten. As a 


80 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


consequence, in the three years he had spent 
among the western tribes, he had mastered a 
dozen of their languages and dialects. The 
words that reached him from the circle about 
the camp-fire were therefore perfectly un¬ 
derstood. Even when the words could not 
be heard, the meaning of the speaker was 
often made clear through his expressive ges¬ 
tures. 

The first speaker whom the priest heard 
was Black Eagle. His manner did not belie 
his name. Apparently his discomfiture at 
the hands of Le Gros still rankled in his 
mind. His face bore a black scowl, and his 
voice was as fierce as the scream of the noble 
bird for whom he was named. 

“ In my lodge on the Minnesota,” these 
were the first words the Jesuit heard, “ in 
my lodge there is a long pole hung from the 
rafters. It is filled from end to end with 
scalps which I have taken with my own hand. 
There are scalps from Mandans, from Paw¬ 
nees, from Illinois, and from Blackfeet; but, 
more than all the rest together, are the scalps 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 81 

of the Chippewas. I took these scalps be¬ 
cause I hated the Mandans, the Pawnees, 
the Illinois, and the Blackfeet; and, most of 
all, I hated the Chippewas. But greater 
even than my hatred for the Chippewas is 
my hatred for these arrogant palefaces. 

“ You have heard their words. They 
speak of us, not as Dacotahs, but as Na- 
douessioux, the Little Snakes. They call 
us, chiefs and warriors of the Dacotahs, chil¬ 
dren, and say we must obey the commands 
of their chief, who lives beyond the great 
waters. They bring the Black Robes, their 
medicine-men, who tell us our gods are de¬ 
mons, and that unless we worship the gods 
they tell us of, we shall be burned at stakes 
forever, instead of going to our happy hunt¬ 
ing-grounds. They bring their terrible guns, 
that send out thunder and lightning, against 
which a shield of toughest buffalo-hide is as 
the leaf of a water-lily. 

“ Let us not be deceived by these strange 
men. They are here to do us harm. Their 
friends are our enemies, and they will com- 


82 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


bine and arm these enemies against us. Al¬ 
ready I see French guns in the hands of 
the Chippewas. Let us leave this council 
where all are our enemies, though they smoke 
with us the calumet. Let us strike while yet 
we have time.” 

For perhaps five minutes after the con¬ 
clusion of the Black Eagle’s speech the circle 
of Sioux sat in silence, meditating upon the 
words they had heard. Then the Red Eagle 
rose to speak. Less of an orator than his 
brother, though equally fierce in words and 
manner, he seconded the proposal to show 
the displeasure of the Sioux at the events 
of the day by taking to their canoes at once. 

A pause of unusual length even for an 
Indian council followed the remarks of the 
Red Eagle. To the priest, invisible in the 
darkness, it seemed that the dark faces re¬ 
flected not only the uncertain light of the 
camp-fire, but the uncertainty of mind of 
their possessors. The Eagles had presented 
the case against the French, but in this rude 
court of the wilderness no decision would be 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 83 


reached until all who cared to present their 
views had had an opportunity to do so. 
There were those who doubted the wisdom of 
the course advocated by the Eagles, but most 
of these hesitated to take a stand that might 
be considered favorable to the hereditary 
enemies of the nation, the Chippewas. At 
length eyes began to focus upon the leader 
of the delegation, the Wolf. 

For many minutes the old chief continued 
to puff at his pipe in grave silence. Then, 
laying it aside, he slowly arose. No finer 
example of mature Indian manhood could 
have been found in the length and breadth 
of the forest than was presented in the per¬ 
son of this old chief. In spite of age, for 
his head was white, his tall and powerful 
body was straight as the pine trees of his 
native woods. His face was that of a man 
who had spent years in the cruel warfare of 
the savage, yet there was something about 
the deep-sunken eyes and the furrowed brow 
that denoted thoughtfulness and mental 
power. 


84 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

The Wolf’s speech was short. Nothing 
was to be gained, he said, by breaking with 
the French. From them came the sharp 
knives and tomahawks that made the Daco- 
tahs terrible to less well-armed tribes. If 
war should be declared against the pale¬ 
faces, guns would, no doubt, be supplied to 
the Chippewas. In that case, not even the 
bravery of the Dacotahs would avail against 
that tribe. Lastly, the French had shown 
their friendliness on that very day by pre¬ 
venting the massacre of the little band of 
Dacotahs by their ancient enemies. 

As the Wolf sat down a murmur of ap¬ 
proval ran around the circle of Indians. 
Evidently the warlike counsel of the Eagles 
met with little sympathy from their fellow- 
warriors. 

The priest, Gournay, realized that the 
moment was favorable for his purpose. He 
advanced slowly to the fire. Following the 
custom of the Indians, he seated himself, and 
for several minutes gazed solemnly at the 
flames. At length he arose and addressed 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 85 


the assembly in the deliberate manner of an 
Indian orator. 

He had come, he said, to take counsel with 
his friends the Dacotahs. (The shrewd 
priest carefully avoided the offensive term, 
Sioux.) First, however, he would ask his 
friends to accept some small tokens of his re¬ 
gard. Opening a compact but heavy bundle 
he had brought with him, Gournay exhibited 
the contents to the eager eyes of the Indians. 
For the principal chiefs there were knives of 
the finest make. For the lesser warriors 
there were tomahawks. Even the women 
and children were not overlooked, but re¬ 
ceived presents of beads, needles, and awls. 

When the excitement attending the dis¬ 
tribution of the gifts had died down, the 
priest submitted the proposition for which 
the presents had paved the way. He asked 
permission for his party of four to accom¬ 
pany the Dacotah delegates back to their 
towns, far to the southwest. 

What the decision of the Sioux would be 
was never in doubt. It had been purchased 


86 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


with the contents of the priest’s heavy 
bundle. Even the Eagles, as they felt the 
keen edges of their new knives, and caught 
the gleam of the fire reflected from the 
polished blades, gave a reluctant consent to 
the priest’s request. It would not be prac¬ 
ticable, however, for him to make the trip in 
company with the delegates, for they were 
to spend many weeks upon the journey, 
hunting and gathering berries and wild rice. 
He was welcome, though, to visit the towns 
on the Minnesota whenever he pleased. As 
a kind of passport to the territory of the 
Dacotahs, the Wolf gave him a symbolic belt 
of wampum. 


CHAPTER VIII 


The morning of the second day after the 
events just related broke upon a scene of 
busy activity on the sandy point where the 
great council had been held. The confer¬ 
ence was over. Well satisfied with its re¬ 
sults, hosts and guests prepared for an early 
start for the homeward journey. Du Luth, 
with the priests and traders, was to return 
by canoe to Sault Ste. Marie. The delegates 
of the various tribes were to go by water or 
by land, either to their villages or to hunt¬ 
ing-places where food would be gathered for 
the coming winter. 

The priest, Gournay, had arranged that 
he, with his three companions, should accom¬ 
pany the band of Chippewas on their way 
home as far as the Mississippi River. From 
that point the four would travel alone down 
the river to its junction with the Minnesota. 

This course had been decided upon after a 

87 


88 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


conference with Du Lutli, who had been to 
the Sioux country, in the present State of 
Minnesota, three years earlier. 

As the red disc of the sun showed above 
the glistening surface of Lake Superior, the 
paddles of the Chippewas and of their four 
companions dipped into the water, and the 
flotilla of canoes moved westward. Le Gros’ 
canoe, which had been lost in the storm, had 
been replaced by an excellent craft obtained 
from one of the traders. Light and buoyant 
as a modern pleasure canoe, it carried the 
weight of its four occupants and several hun¬ 
dred pounds of supplies with perfect steadi¬ 
ness and safety. 

The route of the party lay up the St. 
Louis River. The day was cool, the pad- 
dlers fresh, and the light craft sped swiftly 
over the smooth surface of the river. Camp 
was made for the night fully forty miles 
from the starting-point. 

As the sun went down, gathering clouds 
and a sharp drop in temperature foretold 
wet weather. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 89 


“ Come, lads,” Le Gros said when the 
cargo of the canoe had been deposited at the 
camping-place. “ I think we are in for a 
rainy night, and I, for one, don’t care to 
sleep with no other protection than dripping 
pine-trees. Get your hatchets, and we will 
see if we can rig up some kind of a shelter.” 

Not far from the camp a grove of young 
tamaracks was found. A dozen of these, 
fifteen to twenty feet in height, were cut 
down and dragged to the camp. A pole was 
fastened horizontally, about eight feet from 
the ground, to two neighboring pine-trees. 
On this pole the butt ends of the tamaracks 
were laid. The tops rested on the ground, 
ten or twelve feet away from the pole. As 
there were several courses of the tamaracks, 
they formed a fairly tight roof. Beds of 
soft pine boughs completed the shelter. 

Tired with the steady paddling of the day, 
all hands, Chippewas and French, went to 
bed early. About midnight, Philippe was 
awakened by the sound of dripping water, 
and by a stirring among the Chippewas. A 


90 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


cold rain was falling. The Indians, who had 
prepared no shelters, sought out the trees 
with the thickest tops. Under this scanty 
protection they lay down, to get what sleep 
they might. 

For a while Philippe lay awake, thinking. 
All his life he had done as these fellow-red¬ 
skins were doing. When away from his vil¬ 
lage, he had always, except in winter, done 
without shelter rather than go to the trouble 
of providing it. Now, as he lay dry and 
warm under the roof of tamaracks, he lis¬ 
tened to the continuous stirring among the 
Chippewas, as one after another moved his 
bed in the hope of finding some spot drier 
than the last. In a sleepy way, as his eyes 
closed again, Philippe was glad that he had 
chosen to live his life with those who pre¬ 
ferred to take a little trouble in advance 
rather than to suffer later. 

It was not long before Philippe and all 
the rest of the band were awake again, due 
to a great stir and commotion among the 
Indians. One warrior, in a loud voice, was 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 91 


relating to his comrades some exciting ex¬ 
perience he had just undergone. The sounds 
came to the four in the lean-to out of com¬ 
plete darkness, for the fires had been 
quenched by the rain, and not a ray of light 
from the moon or the stars found its way 
through the clouds and the dripping mat of 
the tree-tops. 

Soon three or four Chippewa chiefs ap¬ 
proached the Frenchmen. Their leader ad¬ 
dressed Le Gros, who spoke their language, 
as well as those of all the other tribes of the 
lake region. 

“ One of our young men has dreamed a 
bad dream,” he said. “ It was a terrible 
dream, and it frightened him very much, so 
much that he has forgotten what the dream 
was. He knows, however, it was a very bad 
dream, one that showed him that it is very 
dangerous for us to remain in this place. 
We must move at once.” 

The thought of leaving his comfortable 
bed, and taking to the canoes in the dark and 
the rain, did not at all appeal to the guide, 


92 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


but he knew from long experience that argu¬ 
ment would be wasted upon the superstitious 
Indians. He decided to try the effect of 
ridicule instead. Having heard their story, 
he suddenly broke out in a loud, scornful 
laugh. 

“ That must have been a bad dream, in¬ 
deed,” he roared, “ if your young man can’t 
even remember what it was. Come, let him 
tell us the dream; then perhaps we shall be¬ 
lieve that the spirits have spoken to him. 
What was the dream? Perhaps it was that 
a doe and her fawn met the dreamer in the 
game-trail, and he was frightened. Possibly 
he dreamed he heard a partridge drumming 
on a log, and he was afraid of the sound. 
Perchance he thought he heard the chatter 
of the gray squirrel in the tree-tops, and his 
heart failed him. Let him tell us the dream.” 

The Chippewas were abashed at the ridi¬ 
cule of the guide, but they insisted that they 
must leave the camp; the warning of the 
dream must not be neglected. The chiefs 
returned to their followers, who immediately 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 93 

began to carry the scanty belongings of the 
band to the canoes. 

“ There’s nothing to do but to follow 
them,” Le Gros said in disgust to his com¬ 
panions. “ We can’t afford to lose the pro¬ 
tection of this band, which is friendly, if it 
is foolish.” 

Slipping and sliding on the wet ground, 
the four carried their heavy load of supplies 
to their canoe. The Chippewas were already 
afloat, and impatient to get away before the 
threatened ill luck came upon them. 

Out from under the canopy of the forest, 
a little light filtered through the clouds, 
enough so that the banks of the river could 
be discerned. With this scanty illumination, 
the canoes worked their way for an hour 
against the stream. Finally the leading 
canoe moved shoreward, and the party 
landed on a wooded point. The Indians at 
once lay down in their dripping garments, 
wrapped in deerskin blankets, equally wet. 

The three Frenchmen and Philippe at¬ 
tempted to build a fire. Try as they would, 


94 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


however, they could not manage to ignite the 
water-soaked twigs and branches which they 
gathered. At last they gave up the attempt, 
and lay down on the wet ground, to get a 
few winks of sleep before daybreak. 

Again Philippe’s active brain refused to 
stop working. He was decidedly uncom¬ 
fortable. His deerskin garments, saturated 
with water, were cold and slimy, as they 
clung to his skin. Great drops from the 
tree-tops fell constantly upon his face. Be¬ 
neath him, rivulets of water, dammed by his 
body, became cold puddles, which chilled 
him to the bone. And why was he enduring 
all this discomfort? Because a superstitious 
Chippewa thought he had dreamed some¬ 
thing that betokened ill luck. 

“ Well,” said the lad finally to himself, 
“ there may have been something to that 
dream after all, for it certainly was a mis¬ 
fortune to leave a dry, warm bed to lie in 
this cold puddle. Anyway, it seems that the 
Indians are always wrong, and the white 
men always right.” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 95 


Before morning a fresh north wind drove 
away the clouds, and the day broke clear. 
Getting up with the sun, Philippe again at¬ 
tempted to build a tire. Having now the 
advantage of light, he found some partially 
dry twigs. With the help of flint, steel, and 
tinder, which the priest produced from his 
water-tight box, the boy soon had a tire 
started. 

Breakfast for the four was to consist of 
juicy cuts from a saddle of venison obtained 
the day before. Le Gros fried these in a 
long-handled iron pan, which he held at 
arm’s length over the tire. Meantime Henri 
and Philippe, to get the chill out of their 
bodies, played at tag with two Chippewa 
boys who were in the party. 

Philippe was “ it.” One of the Chippewa 
boys whom he was chasing dodged behind 
Le Gros, to avoid being touched. In follow¬ 
ing him, Philippe cut the corner a little too 
closely, and caught his toe in a stick that 
protruded from the fire. There was a 
shower of sparks and glowing embers. Le 


96 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Gros fell over backward. His heavy beard 
was singed, and one of his wrists was burned 
by a flying coal. 

Perhaps the guide was not quite his usual 
cheerful self that morning. It is hard to 
keep sweet-tempered when your night’s rest 
has been spoiled by the foolishness of an¬ 
other. At any rate, Le Gros completely lost 
his temper. With a roar like that of an 
angry bull, he seized a stick, and strode after 
Philippe. 

The boy had stopped when he saw what 
mischief he had brought about, and stood, 
looking contritely at the prostrate giant. 
But when he saw the stick in the guide’s 
hand, the expression of his face changed. A 
red flush of anger glowed under his clear, 
dark skin, and his eyes flashed. Almost 
without knowing what he was doing, he 
snatched his new hunting-knife from his belt 
and held it by the point, poised for the 
throw. In spite of good resolutions, the boy 
was again a savage. 

“ Philippe is not a dog,” he said hotly in 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 97 


his Illinois tongue. “ Philippe will not be 
beaten like one.” 

As the cowboy in the west, bravest of the 
brave, holds up his hands when covered by 
his opponent’s gun, so Le Gros stopped be¬ 
fore the threat of the glittering blade. For 
a moment the two stood, with wrath in their 
hearts and in their faces. Then the angry 
flash died in Philippe’s eyes. His head 
bowed, and his hand returned the knife to its 
sheath. 

“ The Great One was a very good friend 
to Philippe,” he said in a voice that choked 
somewhat. “ The Great One saved Philippe 
from the lake. Philippe cannot strike his 
friend.” 

In an instant the flush of anger disap¬ 
peared from the guide’s face. Dropping his 
stick, he placed his huge hands on the lad’s 
shoulders. 

“ I acted like a man of the settlements, 
to think of beating you for an accident,” he 
said. “ There is where you Indians have 
the better of us whites. We seem to think it 


98 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


no harm to soothe our own injured feelings 
by causing some one, weaker than we are, 
to suffer. Well, it’s over now, and no harm 
done. Let’s get the fire going again and 
have our breakfast.” 

Another forenoon at the paddles brought 
the band to the mouth of a little river now 
known as the Floodwood. The head of 
canoe navigation of this stream was reached 
before night, and camp was made there. 
The charred remains of camp-fires indicated 
that this was not the first party to rest at 
this spot. It was, indeed, the end of a long 
portage that led from the Floodwood to a 
small tributary of the Mississippi. 

Next morning, before undertaking the 
laborious task of carrying the canoe and its 
heavy cargo over the portage, Le Gros bar¬ 
gained with the Chippewas for their assist¬ 
ance. By a distribution of beads, eight of 
the Indians were induced to add to their own 
rather light burdens, forty or fifty pounds of 
the Frenchmen’s supplies. 

The sturdy savages swung off over the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 99 


trail as freely as if their now heavy burdens 
had been feather pillows. Gournay followed 
with his precious bundle of materials for the 
communion. In addition, he carried on his 
back a load of half a hundred pounds. Le 
Gros and the two boys were to bring up the 
rear, with the canoe on their shoulders. In 
the canoe were the guns and the reserve of 
ammunition, even more precious in the eyes 
of the guide than was the bundle of sacred 
articles to the priest. 

“ Gold and silver are, no doubt, fine things 
to have in the settlements,” he said, address¬ 
ing his nephew. “ I suppose with them one 
can buy almost anything the heart may de¬ 
sire. But out here in the wilderness I 
wouldn’t give that heavy bag of bullets and 
those two stout kegs of powder for a canoe 
full of gold. 

“ Keep in mind, boy, that if anything 
should happen to our guns, or if we should 
lose our ammunition, we should be worth less 
in the woods than the poorest Indian we 
might meet. Philippe here, if he should lose 


100 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

or break his bow, would soon make another 
of a sort, and could keep himself from starv¬ 
ing; but a gun can’t be made in the forest. 

“ Think first, always, of your gun. If 
you are overturned in a canoe, grab your 
gun with one hand and swim out with the 
other. If you stumble in the trail, hold 
your gun high as you fall, and take the bump 
with your body. Bruises will heal, but a 
broken gun-stock will not. When you eat, 
have your gun at your side. When you sit 
at the camp-fire, place it at your feet. When 
you sleep, make it your bed-fellow. Care 
for it, keep it, and it will make you king of 
the forest; neglect it or lose it, and you are 
nothing.” 

Having delivered himself of this lecture, 
Le Gros lifted his end of the canoe lightly 
to his shoulder. The boys followed his ex¬ 
ample with the other end, and the three 
swung into the trail behind the priest. The 
Indians had disappeared among the trees. 

With an occasional rest to ease their shoul¬ 
ders of their burdens, half the length of the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 101 


portage was covered. Up to this point noth¬ 
ing had been seen of the Chippewas, but 
now, at a bend in the trail, the eight who 
had been hired as carriers came in sight, 
seated at the side of the path. 

“The loads are too heavy,” said one of the 
Indians, who had evidently been selected as 
spokesman. “We can’t carry them any 
farther. Our shoulders and backs are sore 
and lame. The white men must carry their 
own loads.” 

The Indian spoke in his native tongue, 
which was understood only by Le Gros. 
When the latter explained the situation to 
his companions, Father Gournay and Henri 
looked somewhat disconsolate. Their own 
burdens were beginning to bear rather 
heavily upon them, and the thought of mak¬ 
ing repeated trips of several miles each, 
carrying the packs laid down by the Chippe¬ 
was, was not a pleasant one. 

Philippe, however, showed no concern. 
His ready laugh rang out merrily as he 
looked at the stalwart forms of the Indians, 


102 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

who tried vainly to look worn and fatigued. 
The idea that these athletes, who could, if 
necessary, have carried loads twice as heavy 
over the entire portage without resting, were 
exhausted, was too much for the sense of 
humor of the young half-blood. 

Le Gros showed no more concern over the 
situation than did Philippe. Opening a bag 
in which he kept a supply of small articles 
for trading purposes, he offered to the Chip- 
pewas half as many beads as he had at first 
given them. 

The effect upon the Indians was instan¬ 
taneous. Drooping bodies straightened as if 
by an electric shock, clouded faces bright¬ 
ened, and the burdens that had seemed so 
heavy were tossed like playthings to their 
places on sturdy shoulders. 

Again the Chippewas disappeared in the 
forest, and again, a mile down the road, was 
the little play repeated. When the Indians 
had again got out of sight with their bur¬ 
dens, Gournay approached the guide with a 
somewhat severe look on his face. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 103 


“ I fear you have allowed yourself to be 
tricked by these fellows,” he said. “ Our 
supply of beads will not last long, if we have 
to pay double for all our service.” 

A broad grin spread over the guide’s 
features. With a woodsman’s independence, 
he felt no awe of the priest, in spite of the 
latter’s position and character. 

44 Don’t worry about the beads, Father,” 
he said. 44 1 know these Indians. I gave 
them at first only a third of the pay the job 
was worth. They took it because they knew 
they could force me to give them more be¬ 
fore they got to the end of the portage. 
Now they have had two-thirds of what I 
expected to give. They won’t get any more, 
for we are so near the end of the carry that, 
if they throw down their loads again, we 
will take them in ourselves. They realize 
this, and probably won’t cause any more 
trouble, for they wish to keep on good terms 
with the French.” 

The prediction of the guide came true. 
No more was seen of the Chippewas until the 


104 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


glint of running water through the trees 
showed that the end of the portage had been 
reached. The burdens of the porters were 
soon in the canoe. An hour’s paddling down 
the little stream brought the party to the 
Mississippi. 


CHAPTER IX 


The Chippewas and their fairer com¬ 
panions had now reached the point where 
their paths separated. The Indians were to 
go up the Mississippi to their homes among 
the innumerable lakes of northern Minne¬ 
sota. The course of the French, on the other 
hand, was to be down-stream. 

As a token of good-will, Le Gros invited 
the Chippewas to postpone the continuation 
of their journey for a day in order to par¬ 
take of a feast to be given in their honor. 
The beaming countenances of the Indians 
made their polite words of acceptance super¬ 
fluous. This had, indeed, been a wonderful 
journey to them. Feasted and flattered by 
Du Luth at the great council, loaded with 
presents beyond their fondest dreams, they 
were in a mood to do full justice to this last 
act of hospitality on the part of these won¬ 
derful people, the palefaces. 

105 


106 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


“ Philippe,” said the guide that night, as 
he stretched himself on his blanket, “ I wish 
you would see if you can get a deer to-mor¬ 
row morning for our feast. Henri and I 

will try our hands at fishing. I don’t want 

\ 

to use up our powder any quicker than 
necessary, and that bow of yours looks good 
enough to bring down the biggest buck in the 
woods.” 

Early the next morning Philippe was off 
after his deer. He followed the course of the 
river down-stream, keeping a hundred yards 
or so back from the bank. After traveling 
about two miles, he found what he had been 
looking for, a game-trail leading to the 
water. In the dust of the well-worn path 
were the tracks of many deer. Some led 
toward the river; others toward the forest. 
None, however, were really fresh. The 
slight crust of damp earth formed by the 
heavy dew of the preceding night had not 
been disturbed. 

“No deer have come this way this morn¬ 
ing,” muttered Philippe to himself as he ex- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 107 


amined the tracks, “ but there were plenty 
of them here yesterday. There will be more 
to-day. I will wait for them.” 

The river here ran nearly south. A light 
breeze was blowing from the northwest. 
Philippe ensconced himself on a fallen tree- 
trunk behind a cluster of alders on the south 
side of the trail, within thirty feet of the 
water. Here his scent was carried by the 
wind away from both the trail and the river. 

With the patience of the Indians whose 
blood was in his veins, Philippe waited for 
his prey. The full light of day had just 
broken over the river when he began his vigil. 
An hour later the rising sun tinged with 
faintest pink the white twigs of a birch on 
the opposite bank. Another hour passed, 
two hours, three hours, and the lad still 
waited. 

So still was Philippe that a passer-by 
might have thought him asleep on his log. 
Yet not a sign or a sound of the forest es¬ 
caped him. These were new hunting- 
grounds to the young half-breed, and it be- 


108 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


hooved him to make the acquaintance of their 
inhabitants. But most of the denizens of 
this northern forest proved to be old friends, 
and it was from these friends the lad re¬ 
ceived the message for which he had so 
patiently waited. A crow cawed far back in 
the forest. After a long interval of silence 
there came another call, the strident note of 
the blue-jay. This was much nearer. Then, 
only a hundred yards away, a gray squirrel 
scampered up a tree, and sat, chattering and 
scolding, on one of its lower branches. 

Evidently something was disturbing these 
gossips of the forest,—something that was 
moving toward the lad’s hiding-place. As 
Philippe listened even more intently than 
before, he thought he heard the swish of a 
bush as it was pushed aside by some pass¬ 
ing body. Then his sensitive ears caught the 
almost inaudible thud of hard hoofs upon 
the dust of the trail. A moment later a 
magnificent buck led a doe and her two 
fawns into full view of the ambushed hunter. 

Philippe’s position behind the alders was 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 109 

such that he could not shoot at the deer until 
they had reached the water. Then, as they 
drank, their hind quarters were toward him, 
and no vital part was exposed to his aim. 
When, however, the buck had drunk his fill, 
and turned slowly to regain the bank, the 
twang of the bowstring sounded. The arrow 
found its mark behind the deer’s left shoul¬ 
der. 

With a bleat of mingled pain and terror, 
the buck sprang toward the trail, preceded 
by his family. Philippe was too quick for 
them, however, and turned them back to the 
river. Three bounds were enough to put the 
doe and her fawns in deep water. The buck 
tried to follow, but, hard hit as he was, his 
leaps were shorter and slower. As he en¬ 
tered the water, Philippe, knife in hand, was 
close behind him. The deer got to swim¬ 
ming depth and seemed upon the point of 
escaping; but the boy, with a last great leap, 
seized the buck’s stubby tail. A hard back¬ 
ward pull, a quick thrust of the keen blade, 
and the deer was dead. 


110 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


It required but a few minutes for Philippe 
to dress his victim. With its weight thus 
reduced, he slung the carcass over his shoul¬ 
ders and struck out triumphantly for the 
camp. 

The lad’s heart was light within him, for 
he felt the exaltation of spirit that follows 
successful accomplishment. How good the 
life in the forest seemed! He hoped his de¬ 
termination to live the life of a white man 
would not mean that he must exchange his 
beloved woods for the settlements. Here he 
was free. If he chose to hunt, he hunted. 
If he desired to go on a journey, he went. 
If he wished to rest in the cool shade in 
summer, or by the warm fire in winter, he 
rested. 

In the settlements, he heard, it was not 
so. There one lived always under the eye 
of a master. If the master required money, 
or food, or clothing, the subject must sup¬ 
ply the need, though he might be hungry or 
half naked himself. If the master went on 
the war-path, the subject had no choice; he 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 111 


must follow, and perhaps lay down his life 
to gratify the whim of another. 

Reared as he had been in the true democ¬ 
racy of an Indian town, Philippe could 
hardly believe that such conditions could 
exist; that men would consent to spend their 

lives among them. For himself- 

The boy’s meditation was interrupted, not 
by a sight, not by a sound, but by an odor. 
By nostrils less sensitive than his it would 
have been unnoticed, so faint was it; only a 
whiff of the strong, pungent smell of a bear. 

Philippe’s active brain was instantly alert. 
That bear must be his. Fish was good, and 
venison was good, but to the active, growing 
boy the rich, oily meat of the black bear 
made an even greater appeal. The wind, 
such as there was, blew in his face; there¬ 
fore the bear must be in front of him. As 
Philippe had heard no sound, the animal had 
probably not been disturbed, had not de¬ 
tected the lad’s approach. 

Philippe now prepared to match his wits 
against those of one of the craftiest denizens 



112 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


of the forest. Placing the dead deer on the 
ground, he loosened the knife and tomahawk 
in his belt, tested his bowstring, and selected 
two or three of his best arrows. This done, 
he moved cautiously forward. 

His own shadow was not more noiseless 
than Philippe, as he stalked his prey. Not 
once did a breaking twig or the rustle of a 
leaf serve to betray his presence. Every few 
paces he stopped in the shelter of some great 
tree-trunk and searched the forest with his 
keen eyes. At last he caught sight of the 
bear, forty feet above ground, stretched at 
full length on a great pine bough. 

Continuing his noiseless approach, Phi¬ 
lippe came unnoticed almost to the foot of 
the pine. The first intimation the bear had 
of the lad’s presence was the sting of an 
arrow in his skin. Protected as the animal 
was by the limb on which he lay, Philippe 
had not been able to reach a vital spot. The 
bear’s reply to the attack was a growl of 
rage and pain, but he kept his place in the 
tree. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 113 

A second arrow just missed. It would 
require close shooting, indeed, to bring down 
the quarry, for only a scant three inches of 
the bear’s body projected on each side of the 
branch that supported him. 

With the utmost care, Philippe prepared 
for his third shot. His aim was at the neck, 
half of which was exposed. It was a beauti¬ 
ful shot. The thirty-inch arrow, drawn 
clear to the head, flew upward with almost 
the speed of a bullet. Just grazing the bark 
of the bough, it sank deep in the muscles of 
the bear’s neck. With another angry roar, 
the big animal tumbled to the ground. 

Throwing his bow to one side, Philippe 
drew his hunting-knife. He hoped to strike 
the death blow before the bear could get on 
his feet. He knew that the fall, great 
though it was, would have little effect upon 
the animal. The thrust was well aimed, just 
behind the shoulder. Unfortunately, how¬ 
ever, the point of the knife struck a rib and 
was deflected. 

Instantly the enraged brute, smarting 


114 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


with pain, but not seriously injured, was on 
his haunches, facing his enemy. Philippe’s 
situation was now critical. To attack a 
wounded bear with no weapon but a knife 
was a task for an experienced hunter, not 
for a lad of sixteen. Philippe did not hesi¬ 
tate, however. Though he had never before 
met such a situation, he knew, from the tales 
of hunters told around camp-fires, about 
how bruin would act. He knew there were 
three things he must avoid,—the bear’s hug, 
the bite of his powerful jaws, and the terrific 
blow of his paws. Any one of these might 
bring serious injury, or even death. 

As the bear rose to his haunches, Philippe 
darted forward and struck his second blow. 
He trusted to his panther-like swiftness of 
movement to get away before the animal’s 
forelegs could close upon him. But a bear 
in action is little slower than the panther it¬ 
self. Philippe found himself caught in the 
animal’s dangerous embrace. 

In the bear’s vise-like grip the lad was as 
helpless as a baby, except that, fortunately, 




Philippe found himself caught in the animal’s dangerous 

EMBRACE .—Page 114 . 

























































- 























A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 115 


his right arm was free. As the terrific hug 
tightened, he struck his knife frantically 
into the bear’s exposed side. Three times 
did he bury his knife to the handle, then, 
when it seemed that his bones must crack 
under the terrible pressure, he felt the 
bear’s grasp relax. The great animal stag¬ 
gered, mortally hurt, but in his death spasm 
his right paw struck the boy a terrific blow 
in the side. 

Philippe landed a rod away. Stunned 
though he was by the blow and the fall, and 
gasping for breath, his hand instinctively 
grasped his tomahawk, his sole remaining 
weapon. But bruin was through. Philippe’s 
last blows had reached their mark. The bear 
was dead. 

When the lad had recovered his breath, 
he again shouldered his buck. It required 
something of an effort, for he was badly 
shaken up, and was losing blood from jagged 
wounds left by the bear’s claws in his left 
side. The bear was left lying where he had 
fallen. 


116 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


It was but a mile to camp, but it seemed 
five to Philippe, and it was a pretty pale 
“ Brown One ” who finally staggered in 
from the forest and threw down the deer’s 
carcass at the feet of Le Gros. 

“What has happened, lad?” asked the 
guide in surprise, as he noted the lad’s 
drawn face and the stains of blood on his 
skin and clothing. “ Did the buck get at 
you with his horns or his feet? They fight 
wickedly sometimes when they are wounded. 
No, those are not the marks of a deer’s ant¬ 
lers or hoofs,” he exclaimed as Philippe 
raised his arm and exposed the torn flesh of 
his side. “ The claws of a bear or a pan¬ 
ther made those gashes. Which was it, 
boy? ” 

“ A bear,” replied Philippe laconically. 

The guide’s glance fell upon the knife in 
the boy’s belt. Its blade was still dark from 
the stain of blood. 

“Ah! I see how it was,” he continued. 
“Close quarters; hunting-knife against 
teeth and claws. You are lucky to get away 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 117 


with a tom side, lad. Many a bold hunter 
has gone a cripple for life for matching his 
skill against a wounded bear. But how 
about the beast? Did he get off as easily 
as you did? ” 

“ Bear dead. Come, we get him,” was the 
lad’s reply. 


CHAPTER X 


The whole afternoon was spent by Henri 
and his uncle in the primitive cookery of the 
wilderness. Of food there was abundance, 
even for the twenty or more hungry stom¬ 
achs that were to be filled. Nor was any¬ 
thing lacking in its preparation. With the 
skill of their nation in the culinary art, the 
two cooks baked and broiled, roasted and 
boiled. When the call to the feast was 
given, more than a hundred pounds of fra¬ 
grant viands, smoking hot, were ready to 
spread before the guests. 

Philippe, at the insistence of Le Gros, 
had taken no part in the work of the after¬ 
noon. 

“ Henri and I will take care of this busi¬ 
ness,’’ the guide had said in reply to the 
boy’s offer of assistance. “ One doesn’t get 
over at once such a shaking as you have had. 

Besides, you lost a lot of blood before I got 

118 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 119 


the flow stopped. You just sit quietly on 
that log and watch us. It may be,” he added 
with a touch of pride in his voice, “ it may 
be you will learn something about roasting 
a bear and a deer that your Indian cooks on 
the Illinois couldn’t teach you.” 

Philippe was not unwilling to comply with 
the guide’s request. The jagged wound in 
his side throbbed with pain, and the loss of 
blood left him with a feeling of weakness 
and lassitude such as follows long illness. 

Le Gros had proved to be a skilful sur¬ 
geon. His first step had been to wash the 
wound thoroughly in the pure, clear water 
of the river. Then he had applied a healing 
salve, and over that a bandage of clean, white 
cotton. 

“ Water to wash out the poison, salve to 
keep the flesh soft, and a clean cloth to keep 
away flies and dirt,” he had remarked as he 
applied the bandage. “ I have treated hun¬ 
dreds of flesh wounds so, for both whites and 
Indians. I never knew the combination to 
fail, if the wounded man had lived the kind 


120 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


of life he should. Of course, if he had 
wrecked his constitution with bad living, 
nature sometimes took this chance to square 
accounts. Then nothing could save him. 
But you won’t have any trouble, Philippe. 
We will keep you quiet for a few days. 
That will give the wound a chance to heal, 
and you will soon be as well as ever.” 

If Henri and Le Gros had been busy pre¬ 
paring to act as hosts at the coming ban¬ 
quet, the Chippewas had been no less oc¬ 
cupied in fitting themselves for their part 
as guests. A formal feast was an affair of 
importance, and Indian etiquette demanded 
elaborate toilets especially prepared for the 
occasion. These toilets did not consist of 
fine clothing, for such was almost unknown 
in the forest. The personal decorations were 
made up almost entirely of paint, together 
with such feathers and beads as were to be 
had. 

Each warrior carried his “ compact,”—a 
deerskin bag stocked with colored earths, and 
grease for their application. One was so 



A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 121 


fortunate as to possess a crude mirror,—a 
slab of mica, some four inches square. In 
it its owner could catch a faint reflection of 
his face, and of the paint with which it was 
daubed. His less fortunate companions 
were forced to be content with such glimpses 
as they could catch of themselves in the 
smooth surface of the river. 

No doubt it was the opinion of the In¬ 
dians that the miscellaneous collection of 
streaks and dots with which they had cov¬ 
ered themselves added greatly to their at¬ 
tractiveness. In the eyes of the whites, 
however, the effect was simply grotesque, an 
effect heightened, rather than the reverse, by 
the extreme gravity of mien of the warriors. 

To Philippe, of course, such personal 
decorations were commonplace. Le Gros 
and Father Gournay were also too much ac¬ 
customed to the habits of Indians to give 
the matter a second thought. Henri, how¬ 
ever, had never been able to overcome a de¬ 
sire to laugh in the face of every painted 
Indian he met. To-day, for some unknown 


122 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


reason, this desire was almost uncontrollable. 
As one after another of the stately clowns 
marched up and took the place assigned to 
him, the lad barely kept his face straight, 
though he knew that to laugh at his uncle’s 
guests might prove to be a very serious mat¬ 
ter. 

Finally one of the leading chiefs of the 
Chippewas approached. He presented a 
picture wonderful to behold. His shaven 
head was painted a brilliant yellow. The 
left side of his face was bright red, with a 
yellow circle around the eye. The right side 
was an equally bright yellow with a corre¬ 
sponding red circle. The naked body pre¬ 
sented a maze of bars and circles of all hues. 
To complete the picture, the naturally large 
ears had been stretched in childhood until 
they were double their normal size. As the 
owner of them walked, they flapped back 
and forth like the ears of an elephant on 
parade. 

When this much-decorated personage ap¬ 
proached, with all the self-conscious dignity 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 123 


of a drum-major leading a band, the sup¬ 
pressed laughter which had been boiling in¬ 
side the French boy burst forth. It was no 
ordinary laugh; it had been held in too long 
for that. Henri’s haw-haw made the woods 
ring, and tears flowed down his cheeks; tears 
of mortification as much as of mirth, for, even 
as he laughed, the lad realized the gravity of 
his offense against the rigid etiquette of the 
woods. 

The effect upon the Chippewas was all 
that Henri anticipated. Not even the daubs 
of paint could conceal the menacing frowns 
that darkened their faces. Hands were even 
laid for a moment on the handles of the 
deadly tomahawks. No violence was at¬ 
tempted, however, but, at a word from one 
of their chiefs, the entire band marched off 
to their own encampment. 

Henri’s laughter ceased as suddenly as it 
had begun. The boy looked contritely at 
his uncle, whose face showed a mixture of 
amusement and concern. 

“ Well, lad,” he said, “ you have got us 


124 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


in a pretty mess with your settlement fool¬ 
ishness. Now come here and do exactly as 
I tell you, or our scalps may be hanging 
from Chippewa belts in an hour.” 

The guide walked hastily to the canoe. 
From one of the packages in it he drew out 
a bolt of cotton cloth. Cutting off a piece 
two yards or more in length, he wrapped it 
around Henri’s waist and legs, making a 
kind of skirt. 

“ Now go over there to the fire,” said Le 
Gros, “ and act the part of a squaw. I will 
see if I can get the Chippewas to come back. 
If so, you will wait upon us as we eat. You 
will have your own meal after we finish. No 
foolishness now; this is serious business.” 

Leaving Henri thoroughly sobered, Le 
Gros walked slowly to the Chippewa en¬ 
campment. He did not go empty-handed, 
however. The Indians, seated in a circle on 
the ground, discussed in low but angry voices 
the indignity to which they had been sub¬ 
jected. As the guide approached, their con¬ 
versation ceased. The glances cast toward 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 125 


the Frenchman were anything but friendly. 
Le Gros, however, seated himself in their 
midst. After a long pause he arose and ad-. 
dressed his disgruntled guests in their own 
language. 

“ In every village,” he said, “ there are 
warriors, squaws, and children. When coun¬ 
cils are held, or feasts are given, the squaws 
and children meet apart from the warriors, 
as is fitting. When, however, a man-child 
gets his growth, trial is made of him to deter¬ 
mine whether he has the heart and mind, as 
well as the body, of a man. If so, he is 
given a place among the warriors. If not, 
he is sent back among the squaws until his 
mind grows as well as his body. 

“ So it must be with my young white 
brother, who has caused a cloud to come over 
the minds of my brothers, the Chippewas. 
His body is that of a man, and I thought he 
had a man’s mind. I was mistaken; there¬ 
fore he must do the work of a squaw and of 
a child until his mind grows up. See! I 
have put on him the dress of a squaw, and, 


126 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


like a squaw, he shall serve my friends, the 
Chippewas, at my feast.” 

As Le Gros concluded his speech, Henri 
appeared on the river-bank a hundred feet 
away, a water-bucket in his hand. The 
white cotton of his extemporized skirt stood 
out in high relief against the bushes of the 
shore. The poetic nature of the punishment 
to which the boy had been subjected ap¬ 
pealed strongly to the childish minds of the 
Indians. Frowning countenances cleared as 
if by magic; on some faces there were even 
grins of approval. 

Le Gros proceeded to clinch his case. To 
the chief who had excited Henri’s risibilities, 
and who had naturally been most deeply of¬ 
fended, he gave a hunting-knife. Among 
the rest were distributed enough beads to 
bring forth grunts of pleasure. Then, at the 
invitation of the guide, all marched back to 
partake of the interrupted dinner. 


CHAPTER XI 


“ Those may be the last really friendly 
Indians we shall see for a long time,” re¬ 
marked Le Gros on the morning following 
the feast. With the three other members of 
the party he stood on the bank of the Missis¬ 
sippi and watched the receding canoes of 
their recent guests. 

“ I have always found the Chippewas 
trustworthy,” the guide continued. 44 Of 
course they have their outbreaks of temper, 
like all other Indians, and even some whites 
I have known; but they have never attacked 
a Frenchman treacherously. I wish I could 
feel as much confidence in the Dacotahs we 
are about to visit.” 

4 4 How long do you think it will take us 
to reach the Sioux village we are bound for, 
Uncle? ” asked Henri. 

44 From what the Chippewas told me, I 

suppose four or five days of easy paddling 

will bring us to the great falls of this river, 

127 


128 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


the ones Father Hennepin visited two or 
three years ago. The Sioux village is twenty 
or thirty miles beyond. But we will not 
start right away,” Le Gros continued. 
“ That wound in Philippe’s side must begin 
to heal first. A few days spent in hunting, 
and in curing the meat we get, will not be 
lost. We can travel all the faster, if need 
be, if we don’t have to hunt for all our din¬ 
ners on the way.” 

A whole week passed before the guide pro¬ 
nounced Philippe fit for traveling. In the 
meantime, he and Henri brought in game in 
abundance. The birds, mostly partridges 
and prairie chickens, were eaten at once. 
The flesh of the deer, of which there were 
half a dozen, was cut in thin strips, or flakes, 
and dried in the hot summer sun, then 
smoked. Thus prepared, it would keep al¬ 
most indefinitely. 

It was the last night in camp. The canoe 
on the river-bank was loaded for an early 
morning start. A delicious supper of roasted 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 129 

partridges, with fish fried in the grease of 
Philippe’s bear, had been eaten. Gradually 
the long twilight of this northern latitude 
had given place to dusk, and dusk to dark¬ 
ness. An evening chill, forecasting the ap¬ 
proach of autumn, made welcome the crack¬ 
ling and sputtering camp-fire. 

Three of our travelers were grouped 
around the fire. The priest, his chin resting 
in his hand, gazed at the dancing flames. 
His mind, however, was on the work that lay 
ahead of him among the savage Dacotahs. 
Henri was busy cleaning his musket. Phi¬ 
lippe lay prone on the ground, watching the 
fitful play of blaze and ember. 

Le Gros approached the group. In his 
hand was an object that glistened in the 
firelight. It was a necklace made of the 
long claws of the bear that Philippe had 
killed. The lad’s brown face glowed with 
pleasure as the ornament was fastened about 
his neck. 

Well might a sixteen-year-old boy be 
proud of such a decoration. None might 


130 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


wear it except the one who himself had slain 
the former owner of the claws. If the death¬ 
blow had been given with the knife or the 
tomahawk, the honor was double. In such 
a case the necklace was no less a decoration 
for valor than is the Distinguished Service 
Medal worn by our soldiers to-day. Seldom, 
indeed, was it so worn except by grown men 
in the prime of their strength. 

In the exuberance of his gratitude, the 
white blood in the boy overcame his Indian 
reserve. Throwing his arms around the huge 
body of the guide, he gave a hug almost as 
vigorous as if he himself had been a bear. 
Then, a little ashamed of this manifestation 
of feeling, he resumed his position before the 
fire. 

For a time there was silence, silence 
broken only by the cheerful crackling of the 
burning sticks, and by the call of a katydid, 
that shrilly announced the approach of au¬ 
tumn frosts. Finally Philippe spoke, ad¬ 
dressing the guide, who, like himself, gazed 
thoughtfully at the fire. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 131 


44 Why does the Great One go to the Sioux 
country? ” he asked. 

Le Gros started as his reverie was broken 
by the question. It was as if the lad had 
read his thoughts, for they were the answer 
to the interrogation. A look of sadness 
passed over the giant’s kindly features as he 
replied: 

44 1 might say I am going because the 
Jesuits give me my powder, and lead, and 
twenty livres a month for guiding this party; 
but the true answer is a longer one. Put 
some more of those pine knots on the fire, 
Henri, for the night is cool. Then I will 
answer the question that Philippe has 
asked.” 

When the resinous fuel was fully ablaze, 
so that the tanned faces of the travelers 
glowed in the red light, Le Gros began his 
reply. 

“ My real name is not Le Gros,” he said. 
44 The Indians call me 4 The Great One,’ as 
Philippe has just done, and the French mean 
the same thing by 4 Le Gros ’ ; but my 


132 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


father’s name was Jean Bressani. He gave 
me the name of Pierre. 

“ Like most of the whites in Canada, I 
was born in France. When I was only six 
years old, my father brought me, my mother, 
and two younger sisters to Quebec. Young 
as I was, I well remember the neat stone 
cottage in which we lived in France, the 
stone stable with its cows and geese, and the 
one horse with which my father tilled the ten 
acres of farm land that supported us. 

4 4 In Quebec we lived in the town itself 
until the close of the Indian war that har¬ 
assed the colony when we arrived. Then my 
father bought land and made him a farm on 
the large island of Orleans, just below the 
town. 

44 As I grew toward manhood, more and 
more children came to our home, until, as 
with Henri here, it seemed best that I should 
earn my own living in the forest and on the 
lakes. I was eighteen years old. 

44 Near our home on the island was a set¬ 
tlement of Hurons. These Indians had been 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 133 

driven from their homes on Lake Huron 
when their nation was destroyed by the Iro¬ 
quois, and they had found a refuge with 
their French allies. 

“ Among the Hurons was a girl a year 
younger than I. She lived with an uncle. 
Her parents had disappeared in the con¬ 
fusion that followed the destruction of the 
Huron towns. She was a Christian girl, and 
bore a Christian name, Marie. As our homes 
were not far apart, Marie and I played to¬ 
gether as little children. Then, as we grew 
older, I found that I cared more for her than 
for my own brothers and sisters. When I 
returned from my first long journey to the 
west, we were married. 

“ A year later a little boy came to us; a 
boy with soft, brown eyes, and hair that 
glistened sometimes brown, sometimes black. 
We named him Philippe,—the same name 
the priests gave you, Brown One.” He 
turned to the half-breed lad, who still lay on 
the ground, looking at the fire. The boy 
nodded in response, and Le Gros went on: 


134 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


“ When the boy was a year old, word came 
that Marie’s parents and one of her brothers, 
named the Hawk, were with a band of 
Hurons on the northern shore of Lake 
Huron. We determined to join them. Af¬ 
ter a long journey, and a longer search 
along that wild shore, we found them. They 
were encamped on the brow of a cliff at the 
head of a small, secluded hay. 

“ Pitiful indeed was the condition to which 
this remnant of the once proud and power¬ 
ful Hurons was reduced Starving, nearly 
naked, their spirits crushed by the disasters 
that had overwhelmed them, their only 
thought was to hide themselves until the hot 
wrath of their Iroquois persecutors should 
have cooled. 

“ With the help of the Hawk, I soon had 
a comfortable log-hut built. A week’s hunt¬ 
ing stocked it with food to last many months. 
Then I joined a trader bound for the French 
posts on Lac des Illinois, which is called by 
the Indians Lake Michigan. 

“Four months later I returned alone in 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 135 


my canoe. Eagerly I searched for the open¬ 
ing to our bay. At last I found it. Then 
my eyes scanned the cliffs at the bay’s end. 
Possibly the boy and his mother might be on 
some high point, watching for my return. 
But no one was in sight. 

“ As I came nearer a sudden chill of ap¬ 
prehension ran through my veins. There 
had been a change since I left the bay. No 
wigwams showed above the edge of the cliff. 
The sheltered nook where I had built my 
house was again nothing but barren rock. 
The camp had been destroyed, and so re¬ 
cently that a faint line of blue smoke still 
rose from its charred remains. With all my 
strength I paddled to the shore. There, on 
the little beach at the foot of the cliff, were 
the wrecks of four or five canoes. Their 
sides had been crushed so as to make them 
useless. 

“ Leaping from my canoe, I rushed to¬ 
ward the path that led up the side of the 
cliff. But before I reached it I heard a 
faint call. It seemed to come from the foot 


136 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


of the hill to my left. I stopped, and again 
I heard the call,—my own name. Then I 
saw what, in my haste, my eye had missed 
before,—a human form flat on the ground. 
It was Marie. 

“ As I approached her, she repeated my 
name, and raised her hand in welcome. But 
even as she spoke, a shadow passed over her 
face, and her hand fell to her breast. Marie 
was mortally hurt. As I knelt beside her, 
she tried to speak my name again, but her 
voice failed, and her eyes closed. 

“ After a time she looked up at me again, 
and her lips moved. Leaning close to her, 
I caught some of the words faintly, like 
sounds coming from a great distance. ‘ The 
boy,’ she said; ‘my Philippe. I saved him. 
Find him.’ 

“ She paused. Then came a sound I could 

not understand, and the words, ‘-took 

him away.’ The brown ej^es closed for the 
last time. My Marie was gone. 

“ The next day I buried her on a tiny islet 
far out in the lake, where neither man nor 



A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 137 

beast would disturb her. And there on the 
islet, where it seemed to me I could feel her 
presence, I made my plans to find our boy. 

“ It was plain how Marie had come to her 
death. Fleeing with Philippe from the 
Iroquois, for so the destroyers proved to be, 
she had leaped or fallen from the rock. 
With her body she had broken the force of 
the fall for the child, but at the cost of her 
own life. Then some one, friend or foe, had 
taken the boy away. But who was that 
friend or that foe? 

“For. fifteen years I have sought the 
answer. First I searched out all the bands 
of Hurons scattered along the shores of the 
Great Lakes. No refugee from our band 
was found among them. Then I braved the 
wrath of the Iroquois murderers themselves. 
Not one band of all their six tribes did I 
miss, but the boy was not there. 

“ The Iroquois do not love the French,” 
the guide continued, “ and they gave me 
this.” He threw back his tunic and exposed 
a long, ugly scar on his breast. “ However, 


138 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


I escaped, and they buried four warriors,” 
he added significantly. 

“ Since that time I have sought no rest, 
and have found none. Summer and winter 
I have been in my canoe, or in the forest, 
searching for the lad. Not a rumor has come 
to me of the presence of a half-blood boy in 
a tribe, that I have not run it down. From 
the starving Abnaki by the great salt water, 
to the fur-clad Knisteneaux near the frozen 
sea to the north, I have wandered. Farther 
yet I went, when, last year, a report came 
that a boy, half white, had been seen far 
down the Mississippi. I joined the expedi¬ 
tion which Sieur de la Salle led to the mouth 
of the great river. We visited many tribes, 
but, as always, the boy I sought was in some 
other village, or with some other tribe. 

“ We passed your town on the Illinois, 
Brown One,” the guide went on, turning to 
Philippe. “ I had known of you for years, 
but, always when I visited the Illinois, you 
and your uncle were away from your town. 
Again it was the same. Y r ou were on a visit 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 139 

to the salt springs west of the Mississippi, 
and I failed to see you. It did not matter, 
though, for the people of your town told me, 
as you have since repeated, that your father 
was an Englishman. 

“ And now, to answer your question, lad. 
My reason for going to the country of the 
treacherous Dacotahs is, that a report came 
to me at Sault Ste. Marie of a young half- 
breed in one of their villages. It is not the 
town to which we are bound, but is far to 
the west, where there are no trees, but only 
mile after mile of grass-covered plains. 
Whether there is any truth in the rumor I 
do not know, and whether the Sioux will 
allow me to go so far, I much doubt, but I 
must try.” 


4 


CHAPTER XII 

The voyage down the Mississippi began 
most auspiciously. The warmth of the 
August sun, tempered by gentle breezes 
that found their easiest path along the tor¬ 
tuous course of the river; the birds calling 
to their nearly grown offspring; the squir¬ 
rels, chattering as they busily stored food 
for the coming winter, all made life seem 
very good to Philippe, as he half sat, half 
reclined, on a roll of soft blankets in the 
canoe. He was not allowed to use his pad¬ 
dle, lest the strain might open the wound in 
his side, which, under the skilful nursing of 
Le Gros, was fast healing. 

Philippe’s paddle was not needed, how¬ 
ever. The strong arms of Henri and his 
uncle, aided by the current, were sufficient 
to send the canoe over many miles of water 
each day. 

The river flowed as down a great stair- 

140 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 141 


case. For leagues its smooth, glassy surface 
was but a few feet below that of the sur¬ 
rounding country. Then a series of tossing, 
foam-flecked rapids carried it into a gorge. 
Thence, with gradually diminishing banks, it 
again appeared, smooth and shining, almost 
a part of the plain through which it passed. 
Again, in a smother of foam, it sank into its 
gorge. 

For five days the little party journeyed 
down-stream. There was no need for hurry, 
and many of the daylight hours were spent 
in hunting and fishing. Le Gros did the 
former, and Philippe the latter. Henri, with 
the skill of an experienced trapper, set snares 
and traps, and many a luscious meal was had 
off the partridges and grouse which were 
enticed by his bait of wild rice. 

As the party moved southward, the char¬ 
acter of the country changed. The unbroken 
mass of pines gave way gradually to oaks 
and maples, and open prairies appeared at 
intervals along the banks of the river. Deer, 
elks, and antelopes were seen grazing on the 


142 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


rich blue-grass that covered these openings 
in the forest. 

On one of the little prairies even bigger 
game was seen. Philippe, in spite of his In¬ 
dian training, almost jumped out of the 
canoe, when, on rounding a bend of the river, 
a herd of twenty or more buffaloes came 
suddenly into view. They were not more 
than two hundred yards distant. At first 
they paid no attention to the canoe, but when 
Philippe waved his arms at them, and 
shouted the war-whoop of the Illinois, they 
raised their shaggy heads, gazed at him for 
a moment, then ambled slowly off to the pro¬ 
tection of the forest. 

Philippe’s eyes shone with excitement. 

“ Buffalo stop in woods,” he said. 44 We 
stop, too; hunt ’em? ” he asked of Le Gros, 
who occupied his usual place in the stern of 
the canoe. 

44 No, no, boy,” the guide answered. 44 We 
don’t need the meat, and an Indian doesn’t 
hunt for the fun of killing.” 

44 Buffalo hump very, very good, and buf- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 143 


falo robes very, very warm. We go hunt 
’em? ” pleaded the lad in his most persuasive 
tones. But Le Gros was obdurate. 

“We have plenty of jerked venison to last 
us until we reach the Sioux village, and for 
a long time afterward,” he said. “We still 
have a long portage ahead of us, and we 
mustn’t load ourselves down with more 
weight than we now have. Let the buffaloes 
go this time, Philippe, and I promise that 
when we get settled in the Sioux town, you 
may hunt them to your heart’s content. You 
must be satisfied with that.” 

So spoke the guide, but his real reason for 
asking Philippe to forego the hunt was the 
fear that not even yet was the lad’s wound 
sufficiently healed to stand the strain of the 
chase. 

Philippe, of necessity, accepted the de¬ 
cision of Le Gros, and settled back on his 
cushion. Scarcely had he made himself com¬ 
fortable before his quick ear caught a sound 
that caused him to sit straight up again. It 
was a faint, deep rumble, that so filled the 


144 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


quiet air that it was difficult to determine 
from what direction it came. 

“ Two buffalo bulls angry,” Philippe 
cried. “ Have fight. Wish we could see.” 

“ You are wrong this time, lad,” the guide 
replied. “No buffalo’s throat ever gave out 
so deej) a roar as that. What is it, Henri? 
You were brought up on the St. Lawrence, 
and you have been over the Niagara portage. 
You should know the sound of a river when 
it is angry.” 

“ It is the sound of a big waterfall,” Henri 
replied. 

“ Right you are,” answered Le Gros. 
“ This must be the fall Du Luth told me to 
watch for. Father Hennepin discovered it 
when on his way back to the Illinois from 
his captivity among the Sioux. He named 
it after his favorite saint, St. Anthony of 
Padua.” 

The roar of falling water grew more and 
more distinct. Soon a cloud of mist ap¬ 
peared above the surface of the river, half 
concealing a deep, rocky gorge that lay be- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 145 


hind it. Then the current quickened, as an 
athlete speeds for a long leap, and the crest 
of the fall appeared, sharply outlined against 
the mist. 

The canoe was landed on the right bank, 
a quarter of a mile above the brink of the 
fall. The trained eye of the guide had de¬ 
tected here signs that indicated the begin¬ 
ning of a portage. 

“ Why, this is a real road, like those you 
have in the settlements, Henri,” Le Gros ex¬ 
claimed, as he noted a broad trail that led 
into the forest. “ Keep a bright lookout, 
lads, and see that your arms are ready for 
use. This seems to be an Indian highway 4 , 
and, unless my eyes deceive me, it has been 
traveled within the past few hours. How¬ 
ever, the travelers seem to have been going 
in the same direction we are, so we may not 
see them. I shall be just as well satisfied if 
that proves to be the case.” 

Soon the hard work of the portage was 
begun. Le Gros and Henri led the way with 
the canoe and a hundred pounds of its cargo. 


146 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Philippe and the priest followed, with lighter 
loads. 

Passing the fall, the trail led along the 
edge of the rocky cliff that formed one side 
of the river’s gorge. Here the travelers had 
a full view of the cataract. 

Very different was the appearance, then, 
of this greatest fall of our greatest river, 
from that it now presents, ruined as it has 
been by the hand of civilized man. Un¬ 
touched by axe or saw were the surrounding 
forests. The river itself, untrammeled by 
works of man, sprang from the limestone 
ledge in a clear leap of fifty feet to the tum¬ 
bled mass of boulders below. The roar of 
the water as it beat upon the stones was 
deafening, and the spray, rainbow-colored, 
wet the spectators like spring rain. 

For a long time the four stood in the trail, 
drinking in the beauty and grandeur of the 
scene. When at length Le Gros turned to 
go, Philippe detained him, and slipped down 
over the brow of the precipice. In a quarter 
of an hour he returned, dripping wet, carry- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 147 

ing a bundle wrapped in the bark of a birch. 
Opening it, he spread the contents on the 
ground before his comrades. They saw a 
dozen or more choice beaver-skins. 

“ Where did you get them, lad? ” asked 
Le Gros in surprise, as he examined the 
beautiful pelts. “ Those skins are worth a 
month’s pay at Sault Ste. Marie. Where 
did you find them? ” 

“ Saw bundle in top of tree,” replied the 
boy. “ See, more bundles down there.” He 
pointed to the top of an oak that grew at 
the very edge of the river below the fall. 
Some of its branches spread to within thirty 
feet of the descending water, and on these 
could be seen the bundles pointed out by 
Philippe. 

“ I understand now how the skins came to 
be there,” cried the guide. “ They are offer¬ 
ings made by some Indian to the spirit of 
the cataract. Nothing else could account for 
so many bundles placed so close to the fall¬ 
ing water.” 

“ I am sure you are right.” It was the 


148 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


priest who spoke. “ Father Hennepin spent 
some months in our mission at Michillimack- 
inac, on his return from his travels in this 
part of America. He talked much of his 
experiences with the Dacotahs. He told of 
seeing a warrior climb what is probably the 
same oak from which Philippe has just taken 
this bundle. The Dacotah made a long 
speech to Oanktayhee, one of the gods of his 
tribe. He left in the tree, as an offering, a 
fine robe of beaver-skins.” 

“ Well, Philippe,” said the guide, “ you 
had best tie up that bundle again, and get" 
it back into its tree as soon as you can. If 
the man who put it there should find that 
you had taken it, I wouldn’t give much for 
your chance of keeping your scalp on your 
head. Speed down the hill again, and put 
the package back where you found it. Then 
we will be on our way.” 

Philippe obeyed, but it cannot be said that 
he did so willingly. A new ambition had 
taken possession of the boy, and he thought 
he saw a way to its realization. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 140 


Useful as was his good bow, and skilled as 
he was in its use, he had not failed to observe 
how much more powerful and accurate was 
a gun. Then, too, he had noted the high 
respect, almost awe, in which the mysterious 
weapons of the white men were held by the 
Indians. The thunder-like roar, the blind¬ 
ing flash, the burst of smoke, the speeding 
of the invisible bullet,—all these were the 
strongest kind of “ medicine ” to the super¬ 
stitious savages. In their eyes the control 
of it invested the palefaces with almost 
superhuman attributes. No unaided human 
power could produce such effects. 

It was one thing, however, to desire a mus¬ 
ket ; a very different thing it would be to get 
possession of one. Beaver-skins were the 
money of the frontier. Philippe had already 
estimated how many seasons he would have 
to spend in trapping to get enough of this 
primitive coin to pay for a gun and its neces¬ 
sary accompaniments. He would be a full- 
grown man before he could hope to attain his 
aim. And here, in his hand, were as many 


150 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


skins as he could hope to collect in many 
weeks of patient toil. 

A great temptation flashed to the boy’s 
mind. This bundle that he held was only 
one of the many he had seen in the oak by 
the cataract. No doubt others, too, con¬ 
tained valuable furs. Probably there were 
enough to buy a gun. The Indians who had 
put them there were not his friends. The 
Illinois had suffered too much from the 
hands of their powerful neighbors, the Sioux, 
for one brought up with them to love the 
oppressors. 

Philippe made his decision quickly. He 
would hide the package of furs among the 
stones at the foot of the cliff, and put a sub¬ 
stitute bundle in its place. Then, as the 
village to which he was bound could not be 
many miles away, he hoped to have a chance 
to return to the falls, strip the oak of the 
rest of its valuables, and hide the whole of 
them in a “ cache ” among the rocks. Later 
he might have a chance to dispose of them. 

With the fire of a great desire burning in 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 151 


his veins, Philippe forgot his old determina¬ 
tion to live and speak honestly. He failed, 
too, to see how impracticable his scheme was. 
There were no French traders within hun¬ 
dreds of miles. To smuggle the furs to the 
nearest trading-post would be simply impos¬ 
sible. 

Looking quickly around when he reached 
the foot of the cliff, Philippe found a crevice 
in the limestone large enough to hold his 
bundle. A thin stone slab served to seal the 
opening. Making a mental note of the loca¬ 
tion of his “ cache,” so that he could find it, 
even in the night, he sped to the oak by the 
falls. 

Half-way up the tree was a package quite 
like the one Philippe had taken. Perhaps 
some timid squaw, or some old warrior who 
dared not climb to the higher branches, had 
placed the offering there. Agile as a young 
monkey, the boy climbed to this bundle, cut 
it loose, ran up the ladder of branches to the 
top of the tree, and there made it fast again. 

“ Well, lad, did you put the water-god’s 


152 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


furs back where he can get them on cold 
nights? ” Le Gros asked jocosely, as Phi¬ 
lippe appeared again over the brow of the 
cliff. 

“ Put skins back in tree,” was the boy’s 
short reply. He spoke with downcast eyes, 
for, try as he would, he could not bring him¬ 
self to look the honest guide in the face. 
Picking up his load, Philippe strode off 
down the trail. 

It was a hard portage. For fully a mile 
the rough trail led through the forest before 
it plunged suddenly down the rocky side of 
the gorge to the river below. Two trips were 
required to transport all the belongings of 
the party, and it was a weary set of travelers 
that finally reembarked in the tossing rapids 
below the falls. 

“ Keep your eyes open for a camping- 
place, lads,” Le Gros said, as with almost 
unconscious skill he steered the canoe past 
the great boulders that dotted the course of 
the river. “ We must be getting near the 
mouth of the stream the Dacotahs call Min- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 153 


nesota. That means Cloudy Water in our 
speech. The old chief, the Wolf, said his 
village is a short half-day’s journey by canoe 
up that river. We will camp as soon as we 
find a good place. We can finish our jour¬ 
ney to-morrow forenoon.” 

Some four miles below the portage Henri 
spied a large creek that flowed out of a deep 
cut in the western wall of the gorge. Sheer¬ 
ing the canoe into the creek’s mouth with one 
stroke of his great paddle, Le Gros an¬ 
nounced that the camping-place for the night 
had been found. 


CHAPTER XIII 


The camp of the four travelers on the 
night following the portage around St. 
Anthony Falls was a gloomy one. The 
night itself was pitchy black, for the sky 
was covered with heavy clouds; and a chill 
north wind, sweeping down the gorge of the 
Mississippi, moaned its discontent amid the 
projecting rocks of the surrounding cliffs. 

The mood of the campers seemed to be in 
harmony with their surroundings. Philippe, 
whose merry laugh usually sufficed to dispel 
the deepest gloom, ate his supper in silence; 
then, taking a seat well back from the fire, 
he sat the whole evening, gazing at its flame. 

Henri and the priest, habitually sparing 
of words, followed the example of the young 
half-blood, while Le Gros seemed no less 
depressed than Philippe. There was little in 
such an atmosphere to encourage wakeful¬ 
ness, and long before the usual time, Henri 

154 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 155 


and Father Gournay stretched out in their 
blankets. Philippe followed soon after, but 
the guide still sat in his place, looking into 
the fire. When the flames died out, he stared 
at the glowing coals. When these turned to 
ashes, he sat in utter darkness, his eyes still 
fixed on the place where the fire had been. 
At last, with a sigh, he rolled up in his 
blanket. 

The even and heavy breathing soon an¬ 
nounced that, in spite of the burden that 
seemed to be on the mind of Le Gros, the 
fatigue of the day’s labor had brought its 
reward of healthful sleep. Then Philippe 
sat up, slipped out of his blanket, and disap¬ 
peared in the forest. 

Daybreak showed the forms of four 
sleepers, lying with their feet to the burned- 
out fire. Le Gros rose first, as was his wont. 
He gazed long at the form of Philippe as 
it lay completely encased in a deerskin blan¬ 
ket. The boy’s face was concealed, but the 
roll of blanket expanded and contracted 
regularly with his deep breathing. 


156 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


The guide wakened his other two com¬ 
panions with a shake of the shoulder. 

“We will let Philippe sleep for a while,” 
he said. “ I think he is pretty tired.” 

At length, when the breakfast of bass, 
fresh caught from the creek, was ready, Phi¬ 
lippe was called. He awoke with a start, 
and the gloom of the preceding night came 
to his face. It remained for only an instant, 
however; then, with his usual frank, open 
look on his countenance, he threw off his 
blanket and faced Le Gros. 

He was a dilapidated-looking lad. His 
leggins were frayed and torn by briers, one 
moccasin was missing, and a livid bruise 
showed on one cheek. The boy seemed en¬ 
tirely unconscious of his appearance, how¬ 
ever; his gaze was fixed on the face of the 
guide. 

“ Philippe told lie yesterday,” he said 
soberly. “No put skins back in oak, but hid 
them to buy gun. But skins back in oak 
now, and Philippe not tell any more lies, 
ever.” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 157 


With the warmth of feeling of his French 
nature, to which the white blood in Philippe’s 
veins responded, the huge guide folded the 
lad in his arms like a baby, and crooned soft, 
tender things in his ear. Then he held him 
at arm’s length, to catch the appealing hon¬ 
esty of his face. 

“ I saw yesterday how it was, lad,” he 
said. “ I know those skins were as precious 
in your sight as so many pieces of gold would 
be to a French boy. But we can’t be happy, 
even with fine things, unless we get them 
honestly. I am glad you put the furs back 
where they belong, even though you did 
scratch and bruise yourself in doing it. The 
scratches and bruises will heal. The other 
kind of wound wouldn’t.” 

Philippe understood. His answer was to 
sink down close bv the side of Le Gros, and 
to commence swallowing great mouthfuls of 
the delicious fried bass. 

By the time the sun had appeared above 
the oaks and basswoods that crowned the 
sides of the gorge, the canoe was loaded. 


158 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Philippe, in new leggins and moccasins, and 
with the swelling on his face reduced by cold- 
water applications, showed little effect of his 
long, night journey to St. Anthony Falls. 

When all was ready for the start, Henri 
was found to be missing. When, after a 
quarter of an hour, Le Gros began to show 
signs of impatience at the delay, Philippe 
volunteered to search for his missing com¬ 
panion. Just then, however, a faint call 
sounded through the trees that filled the 
ravine through which the creek ran. A sec¬ 
ond call followed. 

“ Henri seems to want us,” said the guide. 
“ Go see what he is about, Philippe.” 

A few minutes later Philippe’s call was 
heard, and Le Gros and the priest followed 
him up the creek. Soon they heard the rush 
and roar of a cataract; then, through the 
branches that overhung the stream, they 
caught glimpses of foam-flecked, falling 
water. A few steps more, and the delicate 
beauty of Minnehaha was before them. 

So beautifully proportioned was this fall, 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 159 


the Laughing Water of Indian legend, and 
so perfectly did it fit into its frame of 
greenery, that it seemed almost like a play- 
cataract, fashioned for a toy by the hand of 
man. In fact, however, the clear leap of the 
water was fully thirty feet. 

“ That is a beautiful sight,” said Le Gros 
to his companion, “ one worth going miles to 
see. But where are the two boys? I am 
sure their calls came from the ravine. I will 
see if they are within hearing.” 

The guide raised his voice in a deep-toned, 
vibrant halloo. The answer came imme¬ 
diately, and apparently from close at hand. 
It seemed to come from the direction of the 
falls. It was the laughing voice of Philippe, 
but no Philippe could be seen. Again Le 
Gros called, and again the response came, 
seemingly from the falling water itself. 

“No wonder the Indians think the water¬ 
fall is a living spirit,” Le Gros exclaimed. 
“ I could almost think so, myself, and believe 
the spirit was answering my call, if it were 
not that the voice is that of our Philippe.” 


160 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


At this moment the two boys, dripping 
wet, dashed into view from behind the cur¬ 
tain of falling water. Their faces were 
covered with grins at the mystification of 
their elders. A shelf of rock, sheltered by 
the overhang of the limestone ledge that pro¬ 
duced the fall, had given them a precarious 
footing, but the spray from the fall had 
soaked them thoroughly. 

Half an hour later, the canoe with its four 
passengers was driving rapidly down the 
Mississippi. Hardly had it got well under 
way, however, when the wall of rock that 
formed the western bank of the river ended 
abruptly, disclosing a broad, wooded valley 
through which flowed a stream of consider¬ 
able size, the Minnesota. 

“ That is the river I was looking for,” ex¬ 
claimed the guide, as the canoe drifted down 
opposite the mouth of the tributary stream. 
“ Now we must be within fifteen or twenty 
miles of the Wolf’s village. Three or four 
hours’ paddling ought to put us there.” 

Now that the course of the canoe was to 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 161 


be up-stream, Philippe insisted that he be 
allowed to use his paddle again. As the 
wound in the boy’s side seemed to be com¬ 
pletely healed, Le Gros gave his consent, 
and, under the propulsion of four good pad¬ 
dles, the light craft sped swiftly up the 
placid stream. 

The valley, at first hemmed in by the 
rocky rampart of the Mississippi through 
which the Minnesota had cut its way, grad¬ 
ually spread into a fertile plain bordered by 
low hills, all covered with dense forest 
growth. 

As the party advanced farther up the 
stream, signs indicating the nearness of men 
appeared along the banks. Here was the 
wreck of a canoe, half buried in a sand-bar. 
There, the charred remains of a fire marked 
a former camping-place. Flocks of black¬ 
birds, like well-drilled air-squadrons, swung 
in intricate curves over the woods and the 
water. Then, rounding a bend of the river, 
an extensive clearing on the west bank came 
in sight. Instantly Le Gros checked the 


162 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


canoe, that he might examine this opening 
before proceeding farther. 

The break in the solid mass of the forest 
extended fully a mile along the river. It 
was at least half as wide. Nearly the whole 
of it was a corn-field; but as a field it would 
have been the despair of the good and in¬ 
dustrious farmers who now occupy the valley 
of the Minnesota. 

The heavy native growth of elms, oaks, 
and basswoods had been only partly re¬ 
moved. The trees had been killed by gir¬ 
dling, or by fire, and most of them had been 
hacked or burned down, but no attempt 
whatever had been made to remove the 
stumps. Only enough had been done to let 
in the light of the sun, and to make possible 
the scratching of the surface of the soil for 
cropping. 

That the work of clearing had not been 
done more thoroughly was not due so much 
to unwillingness on the part of the native 
farmers to work, as to the primitive methods 
and tools which they needs must use. In 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 163 

fact, the amount of labor they had expended 
on their fields was far greater than that per¬ 
formed by their modern successors in ridding 
the land of every trace of tree, or bush, or 
shrub. 

The growth of Indian corn, or maize, had 
reached its full height, and the ears had 
formed, but were not yet ripe. They were 
not the long, heavy ears of present-day corn. 
They averaged not more than eight inches 
long. The kernels were large and round, 
and, when ripe, would be so hard as almost 
to defy the teeth of cattle, if cattle there had 
been to eat them. 

In the middle of the cleared space was a 
group of a dozen large, bark-covered houses. 
It was on these that the attention of Le Gros 
was fixed. Oddly enough, though the struc¬ 
tures were in the midst of cultivated fields, 
they seemed to be without occupants. Not 
a person was in sight; not even a dog was to 
be seen. 

“ I don’t like the looks of things, Phi¬ 
lippe,” said the guide in a low tone. “ It 


164 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


doesn’t seem natural that such houses and 
these green fields should be entirely deserted 
by their owners. Keep your eyes and your 
ears open, lad, for an ambuscade.” 

As he spoke, Le Gros edged the canoe 
toward the eastern bank, then sent it slowly 
past the fields and houses. Still there was 
no sign of human life. When the farther 
edge of the clearing had been almost reached, 
Philippe suddenly raised his paddle and 
pointed up-stream. 

“ See! ” he said. “ Much smoke.” 

Above the green tops of the trees that 
overhung the river, a haze of dark blue was 
spread over the paler tint of the sky, punc¬ 
tuated at intervals by swaying columns of 
hot gases, surging upwards from great fires 
as yet hidden from view. The anxiety that 
had shown in the guide’s countenance disap¬ 
peared. 


“ Ah! ” he said. “ I see now why there 
are no people in the village. These old fields 
are worn out, and the houses look as if they 
were about worn out as well. A new town is 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 165 


being built up the river. There is nothing 
alarming in that.” 

Relieved from the fear that the strange 
silence in the old town betokened mischief, 
the party bent to the paddles. In a few 
minutes the glare of flames, glowing red even 
under a noonday sun, shone through the 
trees. Then a scene of activity, like that 
accompanying the building of a modern 
army-camp, came into view. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Oyer a space of twenty acres, fully four 
hundred dark figures moved busily about. 
Here a band of children, clothed pretty 
much as nature left them, dragged dead 
sticks and branches from the forest, to be 
used as fuel. There a group of squaws 
hacked with stone axes at the charred trunks 
of standing trees, while others kept fires 
burning at other trees, charring them for the 
axe-gang. 

Another squad, using fire and stone axes 
also, cut up the trunks of felled trees into 
logs of such length that they could be rolled 
out of the way, or used for building pur¬ 
poses. 

In yet another place were the men of the 
village. To them fell the task of construct¬ 
ing the large, bark-covered lodges that were 
to be the new homes of the community. 

Their task was no less difficult than that of 

166 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 167 


the squaws, except that some of them pos¬ 
sessed steel knives and hatchets obtained 
from the French. Equipped with these 
hatchets, a dozen men were engaged in cut¬ 
ting down straight, young ash-trees, thirty 
or forty feet tall, and trimming them into 
slender, flexible poles. Another band, with 
knives, stripped the tough bark from young 
basswoods, to use as ropes and withes. 

A third group, using stone knives, dug, 
with infinite labor, deep holes into which the 
poles were to be set, to form the framework 
of the houses. Others set up the poles, and 
bound them together. Still others stripped 
from the great elms huge sheets of thick 
bark, which were lashed to the framework 
to form side and roof sheeting. Lastly, a 
band of old men, unfit for the heavy toil of 
cutting and erecting, built into the finished 
houses long, elevated platforms, to serve as 
bedsteads and settees for the future occu¬ 
pants. 

For many minutes the four travelers 
watched this busy scene, themselves unob- 


168 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


served. Then a cinnamon-colored urchin, 
snatching a moment’s rest between trips for 
brush, caught sight of the canoe, and gave 
a warning yell. Instantly the whole band 
was in commotion. Squaws rushed for bark 
cradles, in which patient papooses swung 
from limbs of trees. Warriors ran for bows 
and spears. Children filled the air with 
whoops and miniature war-cries. 

At length a semblance of order was re¬ 
stored. The squaws and little children re¬ 
tired to the forest. The warriors gathered 
in an irregular group, and, headed by a 
number of chiefs, moved toward a small, 
sandy beach, which the canoe was now ap¬ 
proaching. The younger boys, irrepressible 
in an Indian village, as elsewhere, spread 
out on either side and in the rear of their 
elders, and advanced in battle array, leaping 
from cover to cover, and pretending to send 
showers of arrows in the direction of the 
newcomers. 

A hundred yards below the landing-place, 
a huge elm had, years before, fallen from its 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 169 

place as monarch of the forest, and toppled 
over the bank of the river. Now, only its 
whitened trunk and stubs of the largest 
boughs remained, forming an ideal roosting- 
place for kingfishers, and boys. 

As the canoe approached this old tree- 
skeleton, a mob of urchins crowded out upon 
it, hustling and pushing each other as they 
sought places of vantage. In their van was 
the ten-year-old boy who had first seen the 
strangers. In spite of a grimy face and a 
thick mat of uncombed hair that crowned 
his head, there was something really attrac¬ 
tive in the face and in the intelligent brown 
eyes of the Gopher, as the lad was called. 
That he was a leader among the boys of 
his own age was evidenced by the masterful 
way in which he gained the best seat on the 
old elm, that on the extreme end of the ex¬ 
treme branch. 

Slowly the canoe approached, Le Gros 
and Philippe at the paddles. Henri sat with 
his loaded musket in his lap, while the priest 
held in his outstretched hand the peace-pipe, 


170 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


the calumet. At the landing-place, the 
chiefs, backed by the band of armed warriors, 
awaited the strangers in dignified silence. 

The canoe passed close to the end of the 
old elm-snag. Never before had the village 
boys enjoyed such a “ scoop ” ; to have the 
opportunity to inspect the strangers at a 
distance of only a few feet, while their dig¬ 
nified but not less curious fathers waited 
their turn, was a thing long to be remem¬ 
bered. 

When the canoe was opposite the elm, 
every boy in the crowd pushed forward to 
get just as close a view as possible of these 
mysterious, white-faced beings. Necks were 
craned to the limit, and beady eyes became 
large and round in wonder. Then came a 
crash of breaking wood. The Gopher had 
stretched too far out on the rotting limb on 
which he was perched, and it had broken 
under his weight. 

The distance to the water was only six or 
eight feet. This would have meant nothing 
to the boy, had not his head struck a lower 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 171 


branch as he fell. Confused by the blow, he 
floundered in the deep water, coughing and 
choking, but Le Gros, without even checking 
speed, reached out with his long, broad- 
bladed paddle, scooped up the boy, and 
placed him in the canoe as neatly as a good 
fisherman handles a bass with a landing-net. 

Only a moment was required for the 
Gopher to get his breath back; then, proud 
as any chief in the village, he stood with 
grave face and folded arms as the canoe 
moved on to the landing. 

There could be no question now regarding 
the kind of reception the strangers would re¬ 
ceive. The Gopher, a grandson of the absent 
chief, the Wolf, was a great favorite in the 
village, and his rescue by Le Gros caused the 
hearts of the Indians to open to the new¬ 
comers at once. 

There was, however, no outward manifes¬ 
tation of feeling. Grave, even solemn in 
manner, the chiefs accepted the proffered 
calumet, and it was smoked in turn by them 
and by the white men. Then the belt of 


172 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


wampum, the Wolf’s message of recommen¬ 
dation to his fellow-tribesmen, was pre¬ 
sented. This token removed any lingering 
suspicions that may have been entertained 
regarding the friendliness of the visitors, for 
the Wolf was held in the highest respect by 
his people. 

The Dacotahs, however, were too busy 
getting their new houses ready for the ap¬ 
proaching winter to lose much time over even 
such an event as the coming of the whites. 
Three of the chiefs were delegated to act as 
hosts to the strangers. The rest of the band 
returned to its task of building and clearing. 

Pulling the canoe up on the strand, the 
four travelers roamed for a while around the 
clearing, watching the various gangs at their 
work. Finally they came to the squaws, 
who were felling the larger trees. 

One huge oak was causing trouble. For 
three hundred years this old monarch had 
stood his ground against wind and storm, 
and had spread his great branches fifty feet 
in all directions. He did not propose to 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 173 


give way now to these pygmies who were 
pecking at his trunk. 

If the oak had been a smaller tree, the 
Indians might have decided to let it stand, 
simply killing it by cutting or burning off 
the bark. But so great was the spread of 
the top that it was worth much labor to get 
it out of the way, thus letting in the light 
on nearly a fifth of an acre of ground. 

For days the squaws had burned and 
hacked the tough wood, but had hardly got 
well started with their task. When Le Gros 
and his companions came up to them, the fire 
had just been drawn away from the tree. It 
had charred the wood for perhaps half an 
inch in depth,—this as the result of two 
hours of work. With their heavy stone axes 
the squaws were engaged in cutting away 
the charred wood. 

“ Henri,” said the guide after he had 
watched the group for a minute or two, “ run 
down to the canoe and get two sharp axes. 
Let’s help the women get that old fellow 
down.” 


174 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

In a few minutes Henri returned with the 
keen-edged tools. Taking one of them, and 
bidding the squaws stand aside, Le Gros 
struck it deep into the hard wood. Henri, 
on the opposite side of the tree, followed suit. 
Both were excellent axmen. For half an 
hour the broad chips flew from the deepen¬ 
ing cuts, then, with a roar and a crash that 
resounded long from the surrounding hills, 
the old oak came to the ground. In another 
half-hour the branches had been lopped off, 
and the great trunk lay, gaunt and bare, like 
a fallen hero, stripped of his armor, dead on 
the field of battle. 

An hour before sunset work was stopped, 
and the band gathered about kettles of boiled 
fish and Indian corn for their supper. 
Whites as well as reds ate with keen appe¬ 
tites; then all “ turned in” on skins and 
blankets spread on the ground. 

Aided by the well-equipped Frenchmen, 
the Hacotahs went forward rapidly with 
their task of building the new town. By the 
time September frosts made open-air beds 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 175 


uncomfortable, the houses were complete. 
In the meantime, Le Gros had built for his 
party a small but substantial log-house, 
close by the river. With heavy shutters on 
the one window, and with an oaken door 
three inches thick, the house could serve, if 
need be, as a fort. 

There was little apparent necessity for a 
place of refuge, however. Appreciative of 
the help given them by the whites, the Daco- 
tahs showed the utmost friendliness. On 
the day of the completion of the new town, a 
great feast of dedication was given, at which 
the Frenchmen and Philippe were the guests 
of honor. At its conclusion a most im¬ 
portant announcement was made. 

For days scouts had scoured the surround¬ 
ing country for buffaloes that should serve 
to fill the village larders for the coming win¬ 
ter. On this day they had reported finding a 
herd of at least a hundred on a prairie, fifteen 
miles to the south. The herd consisted, they 
said, mostly of cows and their calves, espe¬ 
cially desired for the fineness of their meat, 


176 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

and the softness of the leather made from 
their hides. Preparations for the hunt were 
to begin on the following day. The guests, 
with the exception of the priest, were invited 
to take part in these preparations. 


CHAPTER XV 


The morning mists were still white over 
the river on the day following the feast, 
when the party of hunters left the village. 
In addition to the usual arms, they carried 
four of the axes of the Frenchmen, for their 
task was to build a “ corral,” or enclosure, 
into which it was hoped the buffaloes could 
be driven. 

Four hours of brisk walking brought this 
advance party to the edge of the prairie, and 
eager eyes scanned the great meadow for 
signs of game. At first nothing could be 
seen, but soon a mass of black specks ap¬ 
peared at a distance of two miles, moving 
out of the surrounding forest. They were 
the buffaloes, leaving their sleeping-place 
under the trees to begin their daily feeding. 

With the game in sight, the hunters began 

their preparations for its capture. A point 

was selected where a gully with steep sides 

177 


178 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


ran from the prairie into the forest. A hun¬ 
dred yards from the edge of the prairie, in 
this ravine, Le Gros, ITenri, and ten of the 
Indians set to work to build the 44 corral.” 

Over an area roughly circular, and seventy 
or eighty feet in diameter, all the trees but 
one were cut down. The one tree spared 
was a lofty elm that towered not only above 
its mates in the gully, but even above those 
that crowned the banks. This elm was al¬ 
most exactly in the center of the cleared 
space. 

The “ corral ” consisted of a fence eight 
feet high. It was made from the trunks of 
tail, young trees, laid one upon another 
against standing trees, and bound to the 
latter with withes of bark. An entrance, 
ten feet wide, was provided in the south side, 
the side nearest the prairie. From the edges 
of this opening, diverging fences were built 
through the woods and up the sides of the 
gully to the border of the prairie. Where 
these fences left the forest, they were about 
two hundred feet apart. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 179 


So far in its construction the “ corral ” 
was quite similar to those used on Western 
ranches for the impounding of horses and 
cattle driven in from the ranges. But now 
the Indians added a feature peculiar to them¬ 
selves. 

Beginning at the outer ends of the wing- 
fences, two diverging lines were established 
that stretched at least half a mile out on the 
prairie. Along these lines stubby tripods, 
made of short logs, were set up at intervals 
of about a hundred yards. In the top of 
each tripod freshly-cut branches or bushes 
were placed, to make the construction con¬ 
spicuous at a distance. The last two tripods, 
those at the ends of the two rows, were half 
a mile or more apart. 

Two whole days were consumed in the 
construction of the great trap, and busy days 
they were for the whole party. Then, in the 
forenoon of the third day, the remaining men 
and half the squaws of the village arrived; 
the men to take part in the hunt, the women 
to care for the flesh and hides of the victims. 


180 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


The children were left behind, except that, 
as an unusual favor to the grandson of the 
Wolf, the Gopher had been allowed to ac¬ 
company the band. 

Final arrangements for the hunt were 
now made. It was to begin promptly at 
noon. In the meantime, except for the 
scouts, who kept constantly in touch with the 
herd, the band was to rest at the “ corral.” 

One other exception there was. Since 
early morning a medicine-man, painted in 
the most gorgeous manner, had been perched 
high up in the branches of the lone elm in the 
“ corral.” Alternately he beat upon a little 
drum, or tom-tom, and shook a huge rattle 
made from a gourd. In the intervals be¬ 
tween these performances he called at the 
top of his voice upon the spirits of the air to 
favor the coming hunt. 

44 Make the buffaloes to be fat, and their 
meat tender,” he prayed. “ Let the cows, 
and the calves, and the young bulls be caught 
in our trap, and let only the tough old bulls 
escape.” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 181 


So, for hour after hour, in endless repeti¬ 
tion, the old conjurer did his bit toward the 
success of the hunt. 

Shortly before noon the entire band, the 
medicine-man included, gathered for a frugal 
meal. Not much food had been brought 
from the village. The hunt was to supply 
this item. 

As the sun approached the zenith, the 
chief who had been selected as leader of 
the hunt gave his final instructions. The 
hunters were divided into two bands of about 
equal size. These bands, each under the di¬ 
rection of a young chief, gathered one on 
each bank of the ravine. Henri was as¬ 
signed to the eastern band; Le Gros and 
Philippe to the western. There was thus one 
musket with each party. At the “ corral ” 
were to be left the squaws and the all-im¬ 
portant medicine-man. Without the inter¬ 
cessions of the latter, no preparations would 
have been considered complete. 

All was in readiness, and the leader had 
raised his hand to give the starting-signal, 


182 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


when the medicine-man, with a storm of 
anger in his face, called to him to stop. 

“ My tom-tom! ” he cried, a touch of dis¬ 
may mingling with the wrath with which his 
voice was charged. “ My tom-tom and my 
rattle! Where are they? I placed them at 
the foot of the big elm when I came down 
to eat, and now they are gone. Where are 
they? ” 

The old man rushed to the foot of the 
elm, to make sure that he had not by any 
chance overlooked his precious implements. 
They were not there. Then from one spot 
to another he ran, where he thought he 
might possibly have placed them. As he 
searched, the medicine-man kept a lookout 
from the corner of his eye for the Gopher. 
He apparently suspected that the disappear¬ 
ance of the drum and gourd was connected 
with that young redskin. 

Such suspicions were justified. As the 
conjurer continued his panicky search, there 
sounded in the ears of the waiting hunters a 
loud, shrill voice. “ Make the buffaloes fat,” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 183 


it called. “ Send us the cows and the calves, 
and keep the bad bulls away.” Then fol¬ 
lowed a vigorous beating of a tom-tom, and 
rattling of a gourd. 

All eyes were turned to the lone elm, from 
which the sounds seemed to come. There, 
on the uppermost of its leafless branches, 
twenty feet higher than the somewhat corpu¬ 
lent medicine-man had dared to go, sat the 
Gopher. With one hand he steadied him¬ 
self on his dizzy perch; the other he waved 
in the air, as if to attract the attention of 
the spirits that inhabited it. 

A murmur of approval rose from the 
bands of hunters: “ Let the boy stay. Let 
him be our medicine-man. The air-spirits 
will hear his shrill voice. Let him stay.” 

Dumfounded at the thought of being 
ousted from his office by a mere child, the 
medicine-man protested loudly; but the idea 
had caught the fancy of the Indians, and 
they insisted on its being carried out. So 
the Gopher was left undisturbed on his high 
perch, and throughout the rest of the day he 


184 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

continued his invocations for the success of 
the hunt. 

The matter of intercession with the spirits 
having been arranged to the satisfaction of 
every one but the old medicine-man,—that 
functionary was inconsolable, and spent the 
afternoon in a sulk,—the leader gave the 
long-delayed signal for the hunt to begin. 
The two bands filed off through the borders 
of the forest. Each man, with the exception 
of Le Gros and Henri, was equipped with 
a bow, a knife of stone or steel, and a blan¬ 
ket. At intervals of about a hundred yards 
the last man in each file dropped out and 
took his station at the edge of the woods. 
In this way a continuous line of hunters was 
stretched around the entire prairie. The 
chiefs, with Philippe, the two whites, and 
twenty-odd Dacotahs, met at the southern 
end of the prairie. In the meantime the herd 
of buffaloes had continued to graze peace¬ 
fully about half a mile north of the place 
where the two bands met. 

A smoke-signal was sent up to indicate 



A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 185 


that the herd had been successfully sur¬ 
rounded. Then the chiefs, with their imme¬ 
diate followers, moved cautiously out of the 
woods toward the wild cattle. The greatest 
care was necessary to avoid a premature 
stampede of the herd. 

As the chiefs advanced, the nearer hunters 
stationed in the border of the forest came 
forward also, and the long, semicircular line 
began to converge upon the buffaloes. 

At the sight of so many dark forms ad¬ 
vancing toward it, the herd showed signs of 
uneasiness. A few old bulls walked toward 
the hunters, as if to investigate, giving out 
meantime low, rumbling bellows of warn¬ 
ing. The rest of the herd ceased grazing, 

and formed itself into a compact body,— 

» 

calves in the center, bulls and cows in a de¬ 
fensive ring on the outside. 

The line of hunters came on slowly until 
within two hundred yards of the herd. 
Then, at a signal from the leader, the two 
Frenchmen fired their muskets, and every 
man in the line dashed forward, waving his 


186 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


blanket, and filling the air with his pierc¬ 
ing yells. 

The bulls which had been advancing 
trotted back and took their places in the ring 
of defense. Conscious of its power, even as 
opposed to a human enemy, the herd stood 
firm. It seemed that the attack had failed 
of its purpose to start the buffaloes toward 
the deadly trap at the other end of the 
prairie. But when the line of hunters was 
only fifty yards away, some of the cows 
showed signs of weakening. Then the 
Frenchmen did their part by firing their 
guns a second time. 

The strange, terrifying roar was too much 
for the nerve of one young cow. With an 
agonized bellow to her first-born calf, which 
stood trembling just behind her, she broke 
from the line and galloped northward. She 
was followed, not only by her own calf, but 
by half a dozen others, all bawling at the 
tops of their voices. Their mothers galloped 
after them, and the ring was completely 
broken. The contagion of panic now seized 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 187 

the entire band, and in a moment it was rac¬ 
ing madly across the prairie. 

All that remained to be done was to guide 
the fleeing buffaloes into the trap prepared 
for their destruction. This was done by the 
hunters who had been left in the borders of 
the woods. These men came forward as the 
herd sped northward, and, with shouts and 
waving blankets, held it in the desired course. 
Soon the buffaloes entered the converging 
lane marked by the tripods, and were 
guided down the ravine into the trap. 

To the Gopher, perched high in the bare 
top of the big elm, all the events of the hunt 
had been plainly visible. He passed word 
of them to the squaws, waiting around the 
“ corral ” below, intermingling remarks 
about the progress of the hunt with his in¬ 
vocations to the spirits. 

“ The hunters are coming out of the 
woods/’ he cried. “ Send us the cows and 
the calves. There is the smoke from the 
thunder-sticks of the palefaces. Now you 
can hear their thunder. Make the buffaloes 


188 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


fat. Now the warriors are moving toward 
the herd, swinging their blankets. Don’t let 
the big bulls hurt our hunters.” 

When the herd stampeded toward the 
trap, the Gopher, in his excitement, pounded 
his drum and rattled his gourd so vigorously 
that all the spirits, both good and bad, must 
have been frightened completely out of the 
neighborhood. 

“ Here they come,” he shouted to his lis¬ 
teners below. “ The whole herd is running 
straight toward us. There are many, many 
buffaloes; more than all my fingers and toes; 
more than all the fingers and toes of two 
boys; of three boys. And they are nearly 
all cows and big calves. Wasn’t I a good 
medicine-man, to get the spirits to send us 
such a fine herd? Now they are past the 
first tripods. Now they are coming down 
the ravine. Now they are entering the 
forest. Ah! Here they are ! 99 

With a rush and a roar like that of an 
express-train, the panic-stricken beasts gal¬ 
loped down the ravine between the converg- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 189 


ing fences, then on through the narrow gate¬ 
way into the “ corral.” 

The nearest hunters followed to within 
fifty feet of the opening. There they formed 
in line, shouting and waving their blankets 
to prevent the trapped animals from leav¬ 
ing the enclosure. Others climbed to the top 
of the approach-fences with their bows, pre¬ 
pared to send their arrows into the bodies of 
any buffaloes that might try to escape. 
Many of the bolder bulls did make the at¬ 
tempt; a few succeeded in passing the 
blockading line, but every one was finally 
brought down by the bowmen. Not one buf¬ 
falo of the whole herd escaped. 

With the arrival of the remainder of the 
hunters, the slaughter of the herd com¬ 
menced. Archers, posted in safety on the 
high fence, picked off their victims at their 
leisure. In half an hour all was over. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Three days after the successful comple¬ 
tion of the great buffalo-drive, the Dacotah 
hunting-party was back in the newly com¬ 
pleted town. It was a time of general good 
feeling. The stupendous task of construct¬ 
ing the new houses was done, and now there 
were literally thousands of pounds of good 
buffalo-meat in the smoke-houses, curing in 
anticipation of the needs of the fast-ap¬ 
proaching winter. Besides, nearly every 
family had a new, soft buffalo-robe to add 
to its supply of bedding. 

The hero of the hunt was the Gopher. In 

the minds of the Dacotahs, young and old, 

his vigorous intercession with the spirits of 

the air had had more to do with the success 

of the whole affair than the efforts of all 

the rest of the party combined. Not a little 

of the credit, however, was given to Le Gros 

and Henri, whose axes had made possible 

190 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 191 


the quick completion of the trap, and whose 
guns had started the game toward it. 

Noting the evident friendliness of the In¬ 
dians, Le Gros had decided to make use of 
it, if possible, in furtherance of his plan for 
visiting that Dacotah tribe, far out on the 
western prairies, with whom rumor said a 
half-breed boy lived. A few handfuls of 
beads had purchased several hundred pounds 
of buffalo-meat, in addition to his share as 
one of the hunters, and had hired a dozen 
men to carry it to the village. On the fol¬ 
lowing day the guide invited the entire band, 
men, women, and children, to partake of a 
great feast. 

All the forenoon a dozen squaws roasted, 
and stewed, and boiled. No expense was 
spared to make this a feast long to be re¬ 
membered. There were fish from the river, 
boiled wild rice, hominy made from Indian- 
corn, puddings of corn meal and dried wild 
plums, and, above all, rounds, shoulders, 
loins, and humps of buffalo, seemingly with¬ 
out limit. 


192 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

When his guests, seated in the great, new 
council-house, had eaten until even their In¬ 
dian stomachs could hold no more, Le Gros 
made his request for permission to visit the 
tribe on the western plains, and for guides to 
accompany him. 

After due deliberation on the part of the 
chiefs, an answer was given. It was friendly, 
but not definite. The chiefs saw no reason 
why one like Le Gros, who had shown him¬ 
self a friend of the Dacotahs, should not 
have such a request granted, but it was im¬ 
possible to give a final answer until the ar¬ 
rival of their sachem, the aged Wolf. 

Le Gros was forced to be content with 
this disposition of the matter, though it 
brought an end to his hope to push on at 
once to the west. Autumn was now well 
advanced, and storms and snows that would 
make travel difficult, if not impossible, might 
come at any time. The Wolf, however, was 
expected soon, and Le Gros had little doubt 
that he would ratify the approving action of 
the village council. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 193 


A week later the Wolf’s party arrived. It 
announced its presence, however, not by 
yells of greeting, but by a funeral dirge. 
The wise old Wolf, who had guided his clan 
in peace and war for a third of a century, 
had been taken ill soon after leaving Lake 
Superior, and, after lingering for a week, 
had died. His body had been buried in a 
strange land. His weapons, his belt of 
wampum, and his great war-bonnet of eagle 
feathers had been brought home by his son, 
to be given funeral honors by his mourning 
clansmen. 

Le Gros, with his companions, stood with 
bared heads as the newly arrived party 
marched in solemn procession from the land¬ 
ing to the council-house, bearing the ac¬ 
coutrements of the departed chief. The 
guide’s face was grave. Not only did he 
sympathize with the Dacotahs in their grief, 
but he felt that he and his party had suffered 
the loss of one who would have been a power¬ 
ful protector in time of need. 

That there would be such need was in- 


194 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

dicated by the looks of hatred on the faces 
of the Sioux chiefs, Red Eagle and Black 
Eagle, as they noted the presence of the 
Frenchmen among the spectators. 

“ An Indian is slow to forgive or forget 
what he thinks is an injury,” the guide said 
to Gournay when the procession had passed. 
“ I am afraid those presents you gave to the 
Eagles were wasted. We shall be fortunate 
if we do not have real trouble with them.” 

A changed attitude on the part of many 
of the Dacotahs soon indicated that the pre¬ 
dicted troubles would not be long delayed. 
Influenced by the Eagles, some who had 
been most friendly to the Frenchmen now 
avoided them, or even insulted them openly. 
Others, perhaps as much from dislike of the 
Eagles as from love for the strangers, main¬ 
tained an attitude of friendship. 

Among those who remained true to the 
French was Leaping Deer, the lad who had 
been Philippe’s most formidable rival in the 
games at St. Louis Bay. He seemed not 
only to have a real liking for Philippe and 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 195 


his companions, but to feel himself bound to 
give to them, so far as he might, the pro¬ 
tection which his father’s presence would 
have afforded them. 

Another staunch friend was the Gopher, 
who had never forgotten his rescue from the 
river at the hands of Le Gros. The in¬ 
fluence of this boy, young as he was, was not 
to be despised. Since the successful outcome 
of the buffalo-hunt, he had been looked upon 
as one who enjoyed, in a special way, the 
favor of those spirits that controlled the 
destinies of the clan. It was freely predicted 
that when he reached maturity, he would be 
the leading medicine-man of the tribe. With 
this possibility in mind, as well as the belief 
that even now the boy had means of com¬ 
munication with the powers of the air, his 
good opinion was courted by his fellow- 
villagers. 

Upon the question of the treatment to be 
given the strangers, the clan soon divided 
into two factions. One, led by the Eagles, 
was openly hostile to them. The other, 


196 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


equally large, but without recognized leader¬ 
ship, insisted that the laws of hospitality 
must be observed; that these travelers, who 
had received assurances of protection from 
the dead sachem, must remain unharmed, 
and must be free to come or go as they might 
desire. 

With public opinion in this divided state, 
the question of allowing Le Gros to enter 
farther into Sioux territory came before the 
council. So vigorous was the opposition of 
the hostile party, that, after a long debate, a 
refusal was agreed upon. 

The guide, who had been called to the 
council-house to receive the decision, realized 
at once the dangerous state of mind in the 
village which the verdict indicated. The hos¬ 
tility which was strong enough to change the 
action of the council in this matter, might 
easily threaten his very life. From such a 
danger he determined to escape if possible, 
while yet there was time. He addressed the 
council. 

“ My brothers the Dacotahs have spoken,” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 197 


he said. “ They cannot grant my request 
that I be allowed to visit the village of their 
brothers on the great prairies. It is well. 
Now it is time that I and my friends go back 
to our brothers, the Frenchmen, on the river 
of the Illinois.” 

Le Gros left the council-chamber and 
sought the priest, to urge the necessity of 
immediate departure, if such a course were 
permitted by the Sioux. 

Meantime, in the great hall, the question 
of allowing the Frenchmen to leave was de¬ 
bated with the usual deliberation of an In¬ 
dian council. The friendly faction would 
have been glad to be rid of the palefaces, 
whose presence was disrupting the hitherto 
peaceful life of the village. The Eagles, 
however, were determined to avenge to the 
uttermost their fancied grievances. They 
would be satisfied with nothing less than the 
death of the offender, the big guide. This 
they did not as yet dare attempt to bring 
about; but they did not propose that their in¬ 
tended victim should get beyond their reach. 


198 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Under the skilful leadership of Black 
Eagle, the hostile party prevailed. The 
Frenchmen were to be forbidden to leave 
the village under any pretext; they were to 
be treated practically as prisoners. The de¬ 
cision was carried to Le Gros by a delega¬ 
tion of chiefs. The guide well understood 
its importance. 

“ This is serious business,” he said, when 
again alone with the priest. “ It isn’t so 
much that we shall be held here against our 
wills. That we can endure, and you can go 
ahead with your preaching as if nothing had 
happened. It is plain, however, that we are 
being held here to give those red rascals, 
the Eagles, an opportunity to work up a 
greater feeling of enmity against us. Then, 
when the time is ripe, they will make an end 
of us. There is another danger we must 
guard against. We have, perhaps, a hun¬ 
dred pounds of smoked meat on hand. The 
Indians won’t feed us for nothing, and when 
they realize that we are utterly dependent 
on them for food, they will charge us prices 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 199 


that will soon exhaust our means of pur¬ 
chase. We must act at once.” 

With characteristic promptness and effec¬ 
tiveness Le Gros set to work to meet the 
changed conditions. His first step was to 
obtain provisions enough to last through the 
coming winter. Through a liberal expendi¬ 
ture of beads, knives, and hatchets, fully five 
hundred pounds of smoked meat was se¬ 
cured, and stowed away in the little log- 
house. With the meat was obtained an 
abundant supply of maize, together with 
dried plums and berries. 

The precautions of the guide did not end 
with the gathering of a sufficient and satis¬ 
factory supply of food. His next step was 
to convert the log-cabin into a little fortress, 
not impregnable, but sufficiently strong to 
furnish protection against a sudden attack 
by the hostile faction. 

The bark roof was made fireproof by 
means of a covering of clay, spread on while 
moist, and allowed to harden. Loopholes 
were cut between the logs, close under the 


200 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


eaves. A well was dug in one corner, down 
to the level of the water in the river. In 
the end opposite the door a huge fireplace 
was constructed of sticks, plastered over with 
clay. 

When the work on the house was com¬ 
pleted, Le Gros and Henri, assisted by 
Philippe, who had learned to use an axe ef¬ 
fectively, attacked the deadened trees still 
standing in the new fields. They soon had 
cords and cords of excellent fuel, which was 
stored in or near the house. Lastly, the 
canoe was brought in from the river and 
placed on the overhead joists of the cabin. 

“ Now I think we are as safe as we can 
be in the same town with the Eagles,” Le 
Gros said, when all these preparations were 
completed. “ But we shall have to be care¬ 
ful never to leave the house at night. That 
is the time to look for Indian treachery. In 
the daytime we shall probably not be mo¬ 
lested as long as we have any friends in the 
village.” 

By this time the fine autumn weather, so 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 201 


characteristic of the valley of the Minnesota, 
had passed. With the coming of December, 
winter set in in earnest. 

First came a wind from Lake Superior, 
laden with moisture, which fell as a deep, 
soft blanket of snow. Then came the north 
wind, sweeping almost without obstruction 
clear from the arctic circle. With tremen¬ 
dous force it picked up the snow-blanket, 
and hurled it through the valleys and over 
the hills as a stinging, biting cloud of ice- 
atoms. With the shift of wind came the 
hard, dangerous cold of the northwest. 

After the storm had continued for a day, 
the Avind ceased, the air cleared, but the cold 
became even more intense. The surface of 
the river was quickly converted to a thick 
sheet of ice, while trees on its banks popped 
like pistols, as their fibres were rent by the 
expansion of freezing sap. 

Within the great community houses the 
cold was such as to have been fatal to be¬ 
ings less hardy than the Sioux. But little 
attention was paid to it. The snow that had 


202 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


drifted in through cracks and crevices was 
scraped up and thrown outside, and great 
fires were built under the gaping vents in 
the roof. Then, though the temperature at 
the sides and ends of the houses was far 
below zero, the usual routine of cooking, eat¬ 
ing, and sleeping went on undisturbed in 
spite of the intense cold. 

To the little party in the log-house, the 
storms and cold of this and following weeks 
brought little discomfort. The house was 
well-built; fuel and food were at hand, and 
plentiful. Only the enmity of the Eagles, 
with the accompanying danger of violence, 
disturbed the peace of the four travelers. 

During daylight hours there was little to 
indicate strained relations between the whites 
and a faction of the Indians. Father Gour- 
nay, with the devotion to duty characteristic 
of the Jesuit missionaries, preached and 
taught wherever he could get a hearing. Le 
Gros chatted and smoked in the homes of 
friendly Indians. Henri and Philippe 
played games with Leaping Deer and his 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 203 

mates, and meantime acquired a speaking 
knowledge of the Sioux tongue. 

At night matters were very different. 
Precautionary rules were rigidly enforced. 
The four never left the shelter of the cabin. 
No visits by the Dacotahs were allowed, with 
two notable exceptions. Leaping Deer and 
his nephew, the Gopher, were welcome guests 
at any time of the day or night. The latter, 
full of a boy’s adoration of the great phy¬ 
sical strength combined with the great good¬ 
nature of Le Gros, spent nearly all his 
nights in the log-house. He displayed an 
almost unlimited appetite for the excellent 
suppers which were served there. After the 
meal he would listen for a while to the con¬ 
versation of his elders. Then, as his eyes 
grew heavy, he would curl up like a puppy 
on a buffalo-skin before the fire for his 
night’s sleep. 

“ I had rather have that lad asleep there 
on the hearth,” Le Gros said one night after 
Leaping Deer had gone to his home, “ than 
to have a dozen Frenchmen here in the vil- 


204 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

lage with us. The Dacotahs look upon him 
as possessed of a very strong ‘ medicine’ 
since the affair of the buffalo-hunt. I doubt 
if even the Eagles would dare touch us here, 
with the Gopher in the house. An Indian 
may be as brave as a lion, on the hunt or in 
battle, but when a question of witchcraft, or 
‘ medicine,’ is involved, he has no more 
courage than a cottontail rabbit.’’ 


CHAPTER XVII 


Whether due to the friendship of the 
little “ medicine-man,” the Gopher, or to the 
fact that a considerable party among the 
Dacotahs still opposed the evil designs of the 
two hostile chiefs, Black Eagle and Red 
Eagle, the winter passed without any act of 
viblence. It became evident, however, as 
time went on, that the faction opposed to 
the French grew more and more powerful. 
Further restrictions on their movements, 
extortions of every kind, open insults and 
threats,—all indicated the success of the 
Eagles in poisoning the minds of their fel¬ 
lows against the strangers. 

When the warm winds and the warmer 
sun of April had melted the ice on the river 
and the snow in the forests, gossip began to 
whisper of an impending military expedi¬ 
tion. It was to be directed against the 

Chippewas, the bitterest enemies of the 

205 


206 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Sioux. The probability of such an enter¬ 
prise became almost a certainty when half 
a dozen influential chiefs, including the 
Eagles, announced the holding of a war- 
dance. 

The great event took place at noonday. 
In the large, open space before the council- 
house half a hundred painted warriors 
shouted, and leaped, and danced themselves 
into a state of utter exhaustion, then an¬ 
nounced themselves ready for the fray. 

Le Gros and Father Gournay looked on 
from the circle of spectators in silent in¬ 
terest. The face of the guide was full of 
concern, for more than once he heard the 
words “ paleface ” and “ Frenchman ” 
linked with the name of the enemy against 
whom the power of the Dacotahs was to be 
directed. 

When the excitement was at its height, 
Black Eagle left the circle of dancers and 
approached the two Frenchmen. 

“ Men of the palefaces,” he shouted in a 
voice so loud that all near him might hear, 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 207 

“ you call the Dacotahs brothers, and say 
we are all children of the great white chief 
who lives beyond the salt water. Come now, 
and join your brothers as they go to fight 
against their enemies, the Chippewas.” 

Black Eagle had no expectation that his 
request would be granted, for he knew how 
close was the friendship between the French 
and their allies, the tribe of the Chippewas. 
In fact, the wily Dacotah had no desire that 
the Frenchmen should cooperate in the ex¬ 
pedition. What he did expect and desire 
was to put the white men “ in a hole,” from 
which they could not extricate themselves 
without lowering their standing with their 
few remaining friends in the village. 

Le Gros appreciated the difficulty of the 
situation, but he answered without hesita¬ 
tion: “ The great white chief is father not 
only of the French and of the Dacotahs, but 
of the Chippewas as well. It is not fitting 
that children of the same father should fight 
each other. We will not go on the war-path 
against the Chippewas.” 


208 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

Black Eagle accepted the answer, only re¬ 
peating it in a loud voice so that all might 
hear. He followed with another request, 
even more craftily framed. 

“ If the Great One,” he said, using the 
Indian’s name for the guide, “ if the Great 
One does not desire to fight with us against 
our enemies, let him lend us the two thunder- 
sticks that he and his young man carry, so 
that we may use them against the Chip- 
pewas.” 

The shrewd Dacotah had put Le Gros 
into another dilemma. If he conceded the 
demand, he and his companions would be 
left practically unarmed among a horde of 
savages. If the request was refused, respon¬ 
sibility for a possible defeat of the war-party 
might be placed on him. Only one reply 
could be made, however. The future must 
care for itself. The guns could not be 
given up. 

Black Eagle accepted the answer quietly, 
and resumed his place in the circle of 
dancers, convinced that he had paved the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 209 


way for the alienation of the few remaining 
friends of the Frenchmen. 

The expedition left the next morning,— 
fifty warriors in their canoes, under the 
leadership of the two Eagles. Their objec¬ 
tive was the band of Chippewas with whom 
they had quarreled at the conference on Bay 
St. Louis. Their course was to be down the 
Minnesota and up the Mississippi to the 
gloomy forests about the sources of the latter 
river. 

The days of waiting for the return of the 
war-party were long and anxious. Hardly 
a Sioux was there in the town who had not 
some near relative among the absent war¬ 
riors. It was expected the party would be 
gone about three weeks. When that period 
of time had passed, and the absentees did 
not return, anxiety became intense. The 
faces of the older squaws, furrowed with 
hardship, showed added lines of care, and 
the small, brown eyes were frequently 
dimmed with tears at the thought of hus¬ 
band or son lying dead and mangled under 


210 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


the dark pines of the northern woods. The 
light, careless laughter of the unmarried girls 
died on their lips. Even the children, usually 
noisy as a pack of coyotes, played listlessly, 
or sat on the old elm that projected over the 
river, watching for the first sign of returning 
canoes. 

The three weeks lengthened to four, and 
the four to five. Still there was no word 
from the absent ones. Then, at sunset on 
the fortieth day after the departure of the 
war-party, a dozen men, nearly dead with 
fatigue and hunger, their clothing and moc¬ 
casins in shreds, staggered into the town. 
At their head was Black Eagle. 

When their hunger had been satisfied, the 
twelve were conducted to the council-house, 
where Black Eagle related his version of the 
disaster that had befallen him and his com¬ 
panions. 

After traveling ten days by river and 
portage, so ran his story, the band arrived at 
a point within five miles of the village to be 
attacked. Hiding their canoes in the bushes 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 211 


that bordered the river, they advanced on 
foot. Their hope was to surprise the Chip- 
pewas, burn their village, and escape to the 
canoes with booty and prisoners before as¬ 
sistance could be sent from neighboring 
towns. 

The Dacotahs had almost reached their 
goal, and were on the point of deploying to 
surround the village, when suddenly the 
forest resounded with the war-cry of the 
Chippewas. From the front, from the rear, 
from right, from left it came, out of two 
hundred brazen throats. And with the war- 
cry came the deadly, iron-pointed arrows 
that struck down a quarter of the Dacotahs 
at the first fire. 

Though outnumbered four to one, Black 
Eagle said, the Dacotahs formed in a ring, 
as do the buffaloes when threatened by 
wolves. With the courage of their tribe they 
met the Chippewa onset, and threw it back. 
Then, gathering in a compact mass, they 
charged the circle of enemies, hoping to 
break through them to their canoes. They 


212 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


had almost succeeded when they found them¬ 
selves faced by a hundred Frenchmen, dis¬ 
guised as Indians, and armed with their 
terrible muskets. Half the remaining Daco- 
tahs fell at the first fire of these new enemies. 
Among the victims was the speaker’s brother, 
Hed Eagle. 

Not more than twenty Dacotahs survived 
the fire of the French. Rushing to the other 
side of the ring of enemies, this little band 
finally broke through, but with heavy loss. 
Only a dozen men escaped. Not daring to 
attempt to regain their canoes, they fled 
through the woods. Now, after untold hard¬ 
ship, they were returned to tell the story of 
their losses and of French treachery. 

The story of Black Eagle was true 
enough, with the exception of that part deal¬ 
ing with the help given to the Chippewas 
by Frenchmen. This was a malicious, de¬ 
liberate lie, told to save the speaker’s face, 
and to inflame his fellow-tribesmen against 
his old enemy, Le Gros. As a matter of 
fact, there had not been at the time a French- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 213 


man within a hundred miles of the scene of 
the battle. 

Untrue as was this part of Black Eagle’s 
story, it was told with an air of perfect can¬ 
dor that carried conviction to his listeners. 
A murmur of indignation ran through the 
crowd, a murmur that grew into an angry 
demand that the three Frenchmen in the vil¬ 
lage be brought before the council, and be 
made to pay the penalty for the supposed 
treachery of their countrymen that had 
brought such disaster. 

To bring the Frenchmen by force, how¬ 
ever, might not be an easy matter, few in 
numbers though they were. Secure in their 
log-house, they could resist for days any at¬ 
tack the Dacotahs could bring against them. 
Rather than incur further losses of fighting 
men that must necessarily accompany an at¬ 
tack, it was decided to resort to guile. Le 
Gros was to be invited on the following day 
to appear before the council. Once in the 
council-house, he could easily be made 
prisoner. Deprived of the leadership of the 


214 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


guide, his companions must soon fall also 
into the hands of their enemies. 

Of all their former friends in the village, 
only a handful now remained true to the 
Frenchmen. Among these few were Leap¬ 
ing Deer, and the Gopher. When the coun¬ 
cil broke up, Black Eagle’s story, and word 
of the decision to seize the strangers, spread 
through the town. When the news reached 
Leaping Deer, he realized that he must act 
promptly if he would help his friends escape 
the net that was to be spread for them. 
Feeling certain that, as an avowed friend of 
the Frenchmen, he would be watched, and 
any attempt on his part to warn his friends 
frustrated, he went in search of the Gopher. 

An hour later, when the long twilight had 
ended, there came a gentle knock on the door 
of the cabin. When the heavy bars had been 
removed, the Gopher, for it was he, entered. 
In few words he conveyed the message en¬ 
trusted to him by Leaping Deer: the white 
men were in extreme peril; they must at¬ 
tempt to escape before morning. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 215 


Le Gros had anticipated the warning. 
Preparations for instant departure were al¬ 
ready completed. The canoe had been low¬ 
ered from its resting-place under the roof. 
Arms, tools, and provisions were in readi¬ 
ness. 

When the Gopher had entered the room, 
the guide carefully replaced the bars in their 
sockets. Then, by the light of a candle of 
buffalo-tallow, he surveyed the little mes¬ 
senger. 

“Is not the Gopher afraid the Eagle will 
have him punished for bringing a message to 
the white men? ” he asked. “ Black Eagle 
is a powerful chief, and has many followers.” 

The boy laughed; a merry, care-free laugh 
that showed his heart to be unafraid. 

“ The Dacotahs will not hurt the Gopher,” 
he said. “ They are afraid that if the Gopher 
does not like them, he will wave his arms like 
this, and puff out his cheeks like this, and 
tell the spirits of the air to bewitch them.” 

As he spoke the boy gave such a perfect 
imitation of the gestures and grimaces of the 


216 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


village medicine-man that Le Gros burst 
out laughing. 

“ All right, Gopher,” he said. “ There 
doesn’t seem to be any room for fear in your 
little head. Now you can do us another 
great favor. We are all ready to leave. Do 
you act as scout for us. When you are sure 
the village is asleep, and that we are not 
watched, go to the old elm-snag that over¬ 
hangs the water, the one you fell off of on 
the day we came here, and give three calls 
of the owl. That will be the signal for us 
to start.” 

The Gopher, full of pride at the impor¬ 
tance of the task assigned him, readily agreed 
to play the part of lookout. The guide then 
wished him good-by, and gave him two small 
bundles. One he was to open the next day. 
The other was for Leaping Deer. The little 
fellow’s heart leaped in anticipation as he 
noted the weight of the parcels, for it meant 
they contained things made of that precious 
metal, iron. There were, in fact, in his 
package, articles to gladden the boy’s heart 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 217 


for many a month,—a hunting-knife in a 
case, iron arrow-heads, fish-hooks, and a sup¬ 
ply of colored beads. 

Carrying his precious bundles, the Gopher 
slipped out into the darkness. Half an hour 
passed; an hour; another hour. The party 
waited in the utmost anxiety, for unless 
escape was made before the end of the short 
summer night, it would probably never be 
accomplished at all. But at last there came 
the prearranged signal, a perfect imitation 
of the owl’s call to its mate, thrice given. 

Immediately Le Gros unbarred the door, 
and the canoe with its cargo was carried the 
short distance to the river. Noiselessly the 
little craft was launched. Then, with Phi¬ 
lippe in his old position in the bow, and the 
guide with his great paddle in the stern, it 
glided, silent as the passage of a spirit, off 
into the darkness. No unfriendly eye noted 
its departure, but, as it swept past the old 
elm-snag, there came again the call of the 
night-owl. It was the farewell of the Gopher 
to the friends he had served so well. 


218 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


When a full mile had been placed between 
it and the Dacotah town, the little party 
breathed freely once more. Henri and the 
priest, who had left the paddling to the more 
skilful hands of Le Gros and Philippe, now 
added their strength to that of their mates. 
Aided by the current, the canoe fairly flew 
over the water. 

The June night was warm, and, added to 
the heat, was a sultriness that was extremely 
oppressive. Under such conditions, and 
softened as they were by months of compara¬ 
tive idleness while confined in the Indian 
town, the work of the paddlers was hard in¬ 
deed, but Le Gros urged his companions not 
to lag. After half an hour, however, he al¬ 
lowed them a few minutes in which to re¬ 
cover their breath. Mopping the streaming 
perspiration from their faces, the four sat 
almost gasping in the oppressive heat. 

“ We must drive ourselves to the limit,” 
the guide said. “It is now after midnight. 
In two hours day will begin to break. Then 
we must expect our escape to become known. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 219 


Three hours start ahead of the Dacotah war- 
canoes is little enough. They will have no 
load, and will be manned by the best canoe- 
men in the village. We will do well if they 
do not go four miles to our three. We must 
drive on at top speed as long as it is at all 
safe; then hide ourselves until darkness 
comes again.” 

“ Why no leave canoe on other side of 
great river, and go through woods to the land 
of the Illinois? ” It was Philippe who spoke. 

“ There is sense in what you suggest, lad,” 
Le Gros replied. “ I had thought of that 
course, but it is a long journey from the 
Falls of St. Anthony to Fort St. Louis on 
the Illinois. Between the two are hundreds 
of miles of ground that has never been trod 
by a white foot. There are large rivers to 
cross, and, no doubt, dense forests to be 
threaded. Above all, there are strange tribes 
of Indians to be encountered. If these tribes 
heard that we were fleeing from the Daco- 
tahs, they would very likely give us up to our 
enemies, in order to curry favor with their 


220 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


powerful neighbors. No, in my opinion we 
must stick to the water. Our pursuers have 
no means of knowing whether our course will 
be by land, or up or down the Minnesota or 
the Mississippi. They will have to throw out 
a wide net. We must try to escape through 
its meshes.” 

The guide dipped his paddle in the water, 
and again the canoe sped silently and swiftly 
over the dark surface of the river. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The faintest touch of light showed on the 
black, overcast sky as the canoe passed 
through the great gap which the Minnesota 
at its mouth has cut in the rocky wall of the 
Mississippi’s gorge. A moment later the 
light craft was caught by the swift current 
of the great river. Le Gros heaved a sigh 
of relief. 

“ One danger at least is passed,” he said. 
“ As long as we were on the Minnesota we 
ran the risk of meeting parties coming from 
the portage at St. Anthony Falls. Now our 
chance of encountering any one bound for 
the village we have just left is at least cut 
in two.” 

The summer day came on rapidly, and 

rapidly did the swift canoe speed to meet it. 

North of east was its course. Soon the walls 

of the gorge receded, and the seven hills on 

which now lies the city of St. Paul, came 

221 


222 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


into view. Then the river changed its course, 
and, in a great bend, turned to the south. 
Le Gros gave an exclamation of bitter dis¬ 
appointment. 

“ I had hoped the river would run to the 
east for many miles more,” he said as he 
laid his paddle across the gunwales of the 
canoe and let the craft drift with the cur¬ 
rent. “ Perhaps you had noticed, Father,” 
he continued to the priest, 44 that the course 
of the Minnesota was to the northeast. If 
the river we are on continues to run to the 
south, it must take us to a point not many 
miles from the Dacotah village. If so, 
runners are sure to have been sent across 
country to the Mississippi to watch for us. 
Perhaps, after all, we should follow the sug¬ 
gestion made by Philippe, and take to the 
woods.” 

44 That is a matter I shall leave entirely 
to you,” answered Gournay. 44 1 engaged 
you as a guide because I believed you to be 
the most capable man I could find for the 
work. I shall not interfere with your de- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 223 

cisions, now that matters have come to a 
crisis.” 

“ Let us stick to the water, then,” Le Gros 
replied after a moment’s further considera¬ 
tion. “ Our journey is a long one, the canoe 
is swift, and it leaves no trail.” 

For two hours more the four labored 
silently at the paddles. Then the guide 
spoke to the half-breed lad. 

“ Philippe,” he said, “ you have noticed 
that the river has run steadily southward 
since we passed the great bend. We must 
be now within twenty miles of the Sioux 
town we left. If runners have come across 
to watch for us, we shall pass them in the 
next hour. Keep those sharp eyes of yours 
open for some sign of them.” 

For half an hour the canoe sped on in 
silence. Then suddenly Philippe pointed to 
the top of the bluffs that formed the western 
margin of the river’s narrow valley. 

“ See,” he said, his eyes glittering with 
excitement, “ see smoke-signal.” 

Above the trees that crowned the bluff, 


224 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


three columns of blue smoke rose slowly in 
the heavy air. 

“ Aye, lad, I see the smoke,” replied Le 
Gros, “ but are you sure it comes from sig¬ 
nal-fires? Perhaps some party of Indians is 
cooking its breakfast up there.” 

Philippe looked at the guide in surprise. 

“No had rain for three, four days,” he 
said. “ Plenty dry wood for fires. Indians 
not pick wet wood for fires for cooking, and 
dry wood not make smoke like that. And 
Indian not go to top of high hill to cook 
breakfast.” 

Le Gros hardly heard the words. There 
was no question in his mind that the columns 
of smoke were signals. His implied doubt 
was really an expression of his wish that they 
might prove to be something else. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ They are signals. The 
Sioux have seen us, and soon the whole pack 
will be on our heels. It is now a question 
of our wits and our strength against theirs. 
The runners will endeavor to keep in touch 
with us by following us along the river. We 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 225 

must try to leave them behind, so that we 
can get into some hiding-place without being 
seen.” 

To relieve their muscles, which ached with 
the strain of hours of continuous labor, the 
canoe was let drift with the current for a 
few minutes. In the meantime, all but the 
priest stripped to the waist, that not an 
ounce of their strength should be lost 
through the restraint of clothing. 

For three hours more the refugees sped 
down the stream; then the bluffs that lined 
the narrow valley receded, and the river 
spread out as a lake three or four miles in 
width, and many times that in length, Lake 
Pepin. 

A look of relief came to the anxious face 
of the guide. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ this is better. It is time 
that we should be getting under cover, and 
we have a better chance to hide here than 
along the banks of even so wide a river as 
the Mississippi.” 

After hugging the left shore of the lake 


226 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


for a mile, the party landed in a little cove 
where thick underbrush came down to and 
even overhung the water. Concealing the 
canoe in the brush, the weary crew threw 
themselves exhausted on the ground. Sixty 
miles of such paddling as they had done was 
almost more than flesh could endure. Even 
the sense of danger was lost in an overmas¬ 
tering desire to rest their strained muscles. 
After a quarter of an hour, however, Le 
Gros roused himself and walked along the 
shore to a point where it was free of bushes. 
Here he had a clear view of the lake and of 
the opposite bluffs. In a moment he re¬ 
turned, his face again filled with anxiety. 

“ Another signal smoke is rising from the 
hills across the lake,” he said. “ The Sioux 
spread their net farther than I thought they 
could in so short a time. Philippe, you are 
much lighter than I. Climb up one of these 
trees and see if the signal is answered from 
this shore. If not, we may be able to get 
away through the woods.” 

In five minutes the lad was back on the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 227 


ground with his report. His face showed, 
before he opened his mouth, the bad nature 
of the news he brought. 

“ Two smoke-signals,” he said. “ One 
this way; one that way,” and he pointed first 
up-stream, then down. 

“ We seem to be trapped,” Le Gros re¬ 
plied. “ Some of the Sioux runners must 
have swum the river, and have followed us 
down its eastern bank. No doubt the Daco- 
tah canoes will soon arrive. Then they will 
close in on us.” 

“ Is there nothing we can do to at least 
attempt to escape? ” asked the priest in some 
impatience. “ Must we sit quiet, like a con¬ 
demned prisoner in his cell, waiting for the 
executioners to arrive? ” 

The mild exasperation of the Father was 
perhaps due to the actions of Le Gros. As 
if he had no more concern in the fate of the 
party, the guide had seated himself on the 
trunk of a fallen tree that commanded a 
view of the dark-blue surface of the lake, and 
of the paler blue hills beyond. His atten- 


228 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

tion seemed to be fixed on the clouds that 
had gathered over the latter, and were re¬ 
flected from the water. 

“ There are three things we might attempt 
to do, Father,” Le Gros said calmly. “We 
might launch the canoe and again try to 
out-distance the Sioux scouts, as they fol- 
lowed on foot. As we were unable to do 
that when we had the help of the river’s cur¬ 
rent, it is not likely that we would be more 
successful on the still water of the lake. We 
might attempt to elude the scouts and make 
our escape through the woods before the 
Sioux canoes arrive. Philippe and I could 
perhaps do that, unless years of training in 
the craft of the woods have gone for noth¬ 
ing. But Henri has not yet learned to move 
through woods and underbrush silent and in¬ 
visible as a bat flying in the dark; and you, 
Father, in that long, black robe you wear, 
would be about as quiet and inconspicuous 
as a buffalo bull thrashing his way through 
a thicket. A third course we might follow 
is to fight. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 229 

“If I were alone, I should attempt to 
escape, and, failing in that, I should die 
fighting. That were far better than the fate 
that Black Eagle has in store for me if he 
gets me alive. But much as he seems to 
hate me, the Eagle has no ground for enmity 
against the rest of you. If we await the 
coming of the Dacotahs quietly, and make 
no resistance when they attempt to take us, 
it may be Black Eagle will be content to 
vent his spite on me alone, and will let you 
and the boys go.” 

Thus, with quiet heroism, did the guide 
plan, not only to lay down his life for his 
friends, but to incur the unspeakable suffer¬ 
ings of Indian torture, that those friends 
might have a chance of escape. 

“ We have done all that man could do to 
escape the Dacotahs,” Le Gros continued 
solemnly. “We have harmed no man, and 
intend to harm none. Our fate must rest 
with the One who is above all. It may be,” 
and his eyes turned again to the western sky, 
“ it may be He is preparing our rescue in the 


230 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

storm that He is gathering over yonder 
hills.” 

As he spoke, the guide pointed to the 
southwest. There the heavy clouds that all 
day had covered the heavens were being 
gathered in great, greenish-black masses, 
that tumbled, and rolled, and swayed like 
smoke from an unseen volcano. Livid 
tongues of electric fire leaped from one dark 
mass to another, or crashed to the hills be¬ 
low, while through the hot, close air came 
reverberations of thunder like the roar of 
distant artillery. 

“ Pray God the storm may come before 
the canoes,” cried the priest. “We might 
then be able to get to another hiding-place 
under cover of it, and make our escape dur¬ 
ing the night.” 

“ I had hoped it might be so,” replied Le 
Gros, “ but it is now too late. Here are the 
canoes.” 

All eyes followed the guide’s hand as he 
pointed toward the upper end of the lake. 
There a canoe, manned by five warriors, had 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 231 


just come in sight. Another followed, then 
another and another, until not less than six 
of the little craft were seen skimming swiftly 
over the smooth water. 

There was no uncertainty in the move¬ 
ments of the little flotilla. Guided appar¬ 
ently by signals from the top of the bluffs, 
it swung toward the eastern shore, and 
moved directly toward the hiding-place of 
its quarry. As it neared the shore, the war¬ 
rior in the bow of the leading canoe rose to 
his feet. It was Black Eagle. 

No second look was required to convince 
Le Gros of the determination of the Sioux 
chief that at last his old score of revenge 
should be settled. Nor were the faces of his 
followers less hateful than that of their 
leader. In fact, it was a chosen band, picked 
from the supporters of the Eagle for their 
bitterness toward the white giant. 

No words were lost by the Dacotahs. All 
four of the refugees were seized and con¬ 
ducted along the shore a hundred paces to 
a spot where the forest gave place to a little 


282 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


meadow of green grass. There they were 
bound to the trunks of trees that surrounded 
the opening. The Dacotahs then gathered 
in a group apart, to consult regarding the 
treatment to be accorded their prisoners. 



Black Eagle approached the captives. —Page 233 





CHAPTER XIX 


The deliberations of the Sioux were brief. 
At their conclusion Black Eagle approached 
the captives, to acquaint them with their 
fate. He spoke to Philippe first. 

“ The Brown One is of Indian blood,” he 
said. “We have been told that his home is 
with the tribe of the Illinois. We do not 
know. At the council at the great lake, the 
Chippewas were his friends, and he came to 
us down the Mississippi from the land of 
that tribe. Let the Brown One tell us his 
tribe. If he is a Chippewa, he is our enemy. 
If he is an Illinois, one of our squaws 
charged us to bring him to her lodge, that 
she may adopt him in place of a son who 
was killed by the Chippewas. Let the 
Brown One speak.” 

The words that should bring his release 

rose to the lad’s lips. Then he remembered 

that, though brought up as an Illinois, he 

233 


234 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


was not one by birth. According to his 
uncle’s story, his mother was of another 
tribe. What that tribe was, he did not know. 
However, he thought, having been reared as 
an Illinois, it would be almost true to say 
that he was one. Then he thought of his 
promise to Le Gros after he had attempted 
the deception regarding the beaver-skins; 
that never again would he tell a lie. To 
claim to be an Illinois would be a lie; would 
be a double falsehood, in fact, for he had 
given his word not to lie. He could see but 
one honorable course open to him. He must 
tell the truth. 

As Philippe opened his mouth to give his 
answer, he looked the Sioux chief squarely 
in the face. The words died on the boy’s 
lips, for, behind a mask of stoicism, there 
showed in the countenance of Black Eagle 
a hatred terrible in its intensity; a hatred 
that embraced not only Le Gros, but all 
connected with him. No flesh could endure 
the tortures that such hatred would bring 
upon it. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 235 


In distress Philippe turned his look to the 
face of the guide; but that face, usually 
frank and open as that of a child, was 
clouded in doubt and uncertainty. Le Gros 
could not counsel the boy to tell an untruth; 
his honest nature rebelled against that. 
Neither could he ask him to say the word 
that would bring upon him the terrible wrath 
of his savage captor. 

Then it was that Philippe was trans¬ 
formed in spirit from a boy to a man. See¬ 
ing clearly what he thought to be right, he 
determined to stand for that right at what¬ 
ever cost to himself. His answer came in 
words clear and strong. 

“ I am not an Illinois,” he said, “ though 
I have lived with that tribe for years. What 
my tribe is, I know not.” 

The words of the lad were greeted with 
cries of derision from the Dacotahs. 

“ He is a Chippewa. He is a Chippewa,” 
they shouted. “We saw him with the Chip- 
pewas at the great council. Like a Chippewa 
let him die.” 


236 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

The fate of the three white men was to be 
no better than that of Philippe. The hope 
Le Gros had entertained that the Indians 
would be satisfied with the death of him 
alone was blasted in the fierce heat of Daco- 
tah hatred. All were to be subjected to tor¬ 
ture by fire; a fate compared to which death 
itself would be sweet. The Indians imme¬ 
diately began preparations for their savage 
sport by gathering dry wood and heaping it 
around the trees to which their captives were 
bound. 

Meantime the storm, that all day long had 
been gathering, broke over the bluffs of the 
lake’s western shore. Then, in a smother of 
swirling, tossing, lightning-pierced clouds, it 
raced across the water toward the group of 
Dacotahs. 

The helpless prisoners watched the oncom¬ 
ing tempest with strange fascination; to their 
excited imaginations it seemed a deliverer, 
speeding to their rescue. Then to their eyes 
a strange sight appeared. From the tum¬ 
bling mass of vapor a great protuberance 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 237 

was projected downward toward the sur¬ 
face of the lake. As it dropped lower and 
lower it assumed the tapering form of an 
elephant’s trunk, that writhed and twisted 
over the face of the water like a living crea¬ 
ture seeking its prey. 

To the active mind of the priest came the 
thought that the storm might, after all, prove 
to be a means of rescue. He knew the super¬ 
stitious dread of the forces of nature in 
which all Indians lived, and especially of 
such terrible manifestations of those forces 
as were about to break upon them. He re¬ 
solved, if possible, to make that dread tame 
the minds of these children of the forest. 

With minds intent on the preparations 
for their brutal sport, the Dacotahs had 
hardly noticed the approach of the tornado. 
In a loud voice the priest shouted to them, 
and, with outstretched arm and a long, gaunt 
finger, pointed to the twisting, funnel- 
shaped cloud. Then, above the roar of the 
approaching tempest, sounded his piercing 


voice. 


238 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

“ Down on your knees, you infidels,” he 
shouted. “ Down on your knees, and beg 
the forgiveness of the Great Spirit of the 
white men for having laid hands on His mes¬ 
senger. Down on your knees, lest He de¬ 
stroy you with the breath of His mouth.” 

The Indians needed no second injunction. 
Well they knew the fearful nature of the 
tornado, which they looked upon as the most 
terrible of all the works of the evil spirits. 
Now to their usual superstitious dread was 
added the conviction that they had mortally 
offended the powerful God of the pale¬ 
faces. In abject fear they groveled in the 
grass, calling on the good spirits to protect 
them, and on the priest to ward off the 
vengeance of his God. 

One Dacotah, however, remained on his 
feet; it was the chief Black Eagle. When 
Gournay’s warning shout reached him, he 
stood ten paces from the tree to which Le 
Gros was bound, directing the work of his 
followers. When he saw the approaching 
tornado, and heard the priest’s denunciation, 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 239 


his face blanched in fear, and his knees trem¬ 
bled. Then his eye fell on the form of the 
guide. Fierce hatred struggled for the 
mastery with superstitious fears, and hatred 
triumphed. His face still tense with the in¬ 
ward struggle, he swung around to face his 
enemy, and raised his tomahawk for the 
deadly throw. But the Dacotah had waited 
too long; the weapon never left his hand. 

With a deafening roar the tornado struck 
the clearing. The black column of vapor 
that had trailed along the surface of the 
lake lifted a little as it came to the shore, 
and passed over the prostrate forms of a 
dozen Indians. Then, as if directed by a 
superhuman intelligence, it reached down 
and touched the defiant chief. Rising again, 
it swept up the face of the bluff like a 
gigantic mowing-machine, leaving a swath 
pf destruction to mark its course. 

To the Eagle, the touch of the whirling 
cloud had been that of the finger of death. 
No mark of violence was on his body, but 
the blood gushing from nose and mouth told 


240 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

of the fatal vacuum that for a moment had 
enveloped him. With his tomahawk still 
clutched in his hand, he had crumpled in a 
heap before his intended victim. 

Following the tornado came rain, not the 
soft, welcome showers of summer, but liter¬ 
ally sheets of water driven with terrific force 
by the wind. Over and through this deluge 
swept the electric storm, piercing the semi¬ 
darkness with its livid darts of fire, and rend¬ 
ing the ear-drums with the crash of its ex¬ 
plosions. Then, as suddenly as it had come, 
the storm departed. The summer sun shone 
brightly between the scattering clouds, and 
the rainbow of promise was spread over the 
eastern sky. 

Still trembling with fear and awe, the 
Dacotahs rose from the ground and ap¬ 
proached the form of their leader. The 
manner of his death, apparently without 
violence, increased still more their super¬ 
stitious fears and their dread of the black- 
robed priest, who, to them, seemed to have 
directed and controlled even the tornado. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 241 


With trembling fingers they loosened the 
thongs that bound him and his companions; 
then retired a safe distance, lest they too 
should incur the wrath of such a terrible 
medicine-man. 


CHAPTER XX 


Three weeks after the date of the tor¬ 
nado on Lake Pepin, Le Gros and the priest 
were seated beside a camp-fire on the bank 
of the Illinois. A hundred feet away the 
two boys angled for the great cat-fish that 
then, as now, inhabited those waters. 

Without mishap the party had descended 
the Mississippi, traveling at night, lest they 
should find themselves again in the hands of 
the Sioux. Reaching the mouth of the 
Illinois, however, they had abandoned their 
caution, for they were then in the land of a 
tribe that looked up to the French as leaders 
and protectors. 

For a long time the guide sat in silence. 
Apparently he pondered over some difficult 
problem. 

“Father,” he said finally, “you know 

what caused me to accompany you on the 

journey to the Sioux village. It was that 

242 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 243 


I might continue my search for my lost boy 
in a region where I had never yet been. 
Well, I have decided to search no more.’’ 

The look on the priest’s face showed the 
interest he felt in the guide’s statement, but 
he said nothing. 

“ The reason is to be found, in part, in 
that brown-faced lad over there on the 
bank,” Le Gros continued. “ I have searched 
long and faithfully for my own son. If he 
were living, I must have found him. No 
doubt he perished at the hands of the ac¬ 
cursed Iroquois, as did his mother. But I 
have come to love the Brown One almost as 
if he were my own boy. To-morrow we shall 
reach the Illinois town where his uncle lives. 
If he and the uncle are willing, I shall then 
adopt Philippe as my son.” 

The priest was prevented from replying 
by a shout from the river-bank, where Phi¬ 
lippe was engaged in pulling ashore a fifty- 
pound cat-fish. Soon the two lads joined 
their elders, carrying the great fish on a stick 
thrust through its gills. 


244 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


“ He looks like a devil with horns,” said 
Henri. “ I never saw such an ugly face.” 

“ Cat-fish not pretty, but very good to 
eat,” replied Philippe, as he cut off first the 
creature’s head, then thick slices of steak. 
Soon followed the hissing sound and the de¬ 
licious odor of frying fish. 

At noon on the following day the party 
arrived at the great town of the Illinois. It 
was situated on the north bank of the river 
to which the tribe has given its name, at a 
point nearly opposite the mouth of Great 
Vermilion River. Twelve hundred warriors 
made their homes in the bark-huts and log- 
cabins that were scattered from the river’s 
edge to the border of the forest, half a mile 
away. All told, the inhabitants of the town 
numbered about six thousand. 

To these Indians, white men had ceased to 
be a curiosity, and only mild interest was 
shown in the arrival of the party. The 
canoe was drawn up on the bank. Leaving 
Henri and the priest to guard its contents, 
Le Gros and Philippe went in search of the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 245 


latter’s uncle, whose home was near the edge 
of the forest. 

“ What is your uncle’s name? ” Le Gros 
asked, as the two threaded their way among 
the clustered lodges that composed the town. 

“ The Illinois call him Springing Pan¬ 
ther,” replied the boy, speaking in his 
adopted Illinois tongue. “ What his name 
was among the Creeks I do not know. My 
uncle almost never talks about his life with 
them.” 

The fates seemed to have conspired to pre¬ 
vent a meeting of Le Gros and the uncle, 
for again the latter was absent. He was 
with a party of Illinois who had left the town 
two days earlier, to hunt buffaloes on the 
prairies to the south. They were not ex¬ 
pected back for two weeks or more. 

That he might run no chance of missing 
the Panther on his return, Le Gros decided 
to stay in the town. Without ceremony, he 
and the two boys moved into the Panther’s 
empty lodge. The priest Gournay accepted 
the invitation of a brother Jesuit, a mis- 


246 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


sionary to the Illinois, to join him at Fort 
St. Louis, a little way up the river. 

At noon of the following day Le Gros an¬ 
nounced his intention to spend the after¬ 
noon at the fort. He would be back before 
morning, he said. A request on the part of 
the boys that they be allowed to accompany 
him was refused. 

Sleep was sweet on these days to the two 
lads. For many months, in the Sioux town, 
they had lived in a state of apprehension 
and nervous tension. Now, in the midst of 
thousands of friendly Indians, their taut 
nerves relaxed. They ate enormous meals, 
they lounged for long hours in the shade, 
they slept for longer hours in their comfort¬ 
able beds. Thus nature in her own benefi¬ 
cent way restored them to their usual 
healthy, normal condition. 

The sun was many hours above the hori¬ 
zon on the next morning when Philippe 
stirred in his blanket, yawned, and, with a 
sleepy gesture, threw his hand down to the 
ground at his side. It struck a hard object 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 247 


with force enough to waken the boy com¬ 
pletely. 

Sitting up, Philippe nursed his bruised 
knuckles, meantime looking ruefully at Le 
Gros, who stood grinning in the doorway of 
the lodge. Then, as he glanced down to see 
what had hurt his hand, his brown eyes 
opened until they looked like great buttons 
on his face; for there, on a blanket, was a 
beautiful, shiny, new musket, with powder- 
horn, and a well filled bullet-pouch. 

For a moment the lad sat as if stupefied. 
Then his hand crept softly to the stock of 
the gun and touched it almost reverently. 
Again the brown eyes met the blue ones of 
the guide. 

“ For me? ” Philippe asked doubtingly, 
for it seemed almost beyond belief that such 
good fortune should be for him. 

The answer was a nod of the guide’s head. 
The boy picked up the musket gently and 
laid it across his knees, tried the lock, and 
inspected the bullet-pouch and powder-horn. 
Then he looked up again at Le Gros. 


248 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

“ Why give Philippe such fine, fine pres¬ 
ent? ” he asked. 

“ There are three reasons, lad,” replied the 
guide. “ In the first place, I like you. Then 
I liked the way in which you gave up the 
beaver-skins you found at the Falls of St. 
Anthony, which you hoped would help pay 
for a gun. Lastly, this is the seventeenth 
birthday of that other Philippe whom I have 
not yet found. You must take his place for 
to-day.” 

Philippe again inspected his musket, and 
laid it down carefully; then, with a leap like 
that of a wildcat, he landed beside the guide. 
Before that surprised person could move he 
was in the grip of one of those bear-like hugs 
with which the lad sometimes expressed his 
emotion. 

The remaining hours of the day, and many 
days that followed, were spent by Philippe 
and Le Gros in musket-practice. The piece 
was a fine one, that shot true and hard. Un¬ 
der the skilful instruction of the guide, him¬ 
self one of the best marksmen on the frontier, 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 249 


the boy made rapid progress in the use of 
his new weapon. Special stress was laid by 
Le Gros on shooting at moving objects, for, 
as he said, in the forest the target seldom 
waits quietly to be shot down. If one is to 
use his gun without wasting ammunition, 
frequently more precious than gold, he must 
learn to get his victim on the run or on the 
wing. In this kind of shooting Philippe’s 
steady nerves and quick eye soon made him 
almost the equal of his teacher. 

As the days passed, Le Gros thought he 
sensed a change in the atmosphere of sum¬ 
mer laziness that had marked the town. 
Warriors, gathered in groups, engaged in 
earnest and lengthy discussions. Others in¬ 
spected and repaired their weapons. Squaws, 
as they labored in the fields, kept their chil¬ 
dren near them, and often glanced fearfully 
toward the forest as the cries of crows or 
jays denoted in it the presence of some mov¬ 
ing object. 

Two weeks after his arrival in the town, 
half a dozen of the chiefs came to Le Gros, 


250 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 

as he and Philippe were engaged in their 
daily lesson with the musket. The leader of 
the group spoke in his native tongue. 

“ The Great One is like a brother to the 
men of the Illinois,” he said. “We will tell 
him the bad news we have heard. He will 
advise us like an older brother.” 

The speaker then stated that repeated 
rumors had come to the town of the approach 
of a war-party of Iroquois Indians. A band 
of four or five hundred of these bloodthirsty 
warriors, so the rumor said, had been seen to 
pass through the Strait of Michillimackinac, 
and to head southward on Lake Michigan. 
What their destination was, no one knew. 
To the minds of the Illinois, a timid people 
in spite of their numbers, the coming of the 
Iroquois could mean but one thing,—a re¬ 
newal of the attack that four years before 
had changed this very town to a wilderness 
and a desolation. 

“ Have you scouts posted to give warning 
of the approach of the Iroquois? ” asked Le 
Gros. 



A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 251 

The answer was in the negative. There 
were so many towns between them and Lake 
Michigan that it seemed unnecessary to send 
out scouting parties. Word would surely 
be brought by the friendly Indians of these 
towns, in case an enemy should approach 
from the direction of the lake. 

“Will the Illinois fight if the Iroquois 
come? ” again asked the guide. 

“ Yes, we will fight,” answered the chief, 
but there was no spirit in his words. This 
fact, and the depressed air of his comrades, 
indicated clearly that little reliance could be 
placed on these Indians in a fight to the 
death with their old enemies. In fact, what 
little martial spirit the Illinois ever had pos¬ 
sessed had been pretty thoroughly crushed 
by the disasters they had recently suffered 
at the hands of the fierce masters of the 
forest. 

“You ask for my advice,” said Le Gros 
after he had pondered the words of the chief 
for a few moments. “ Here it is. Fill the 
woods with scouting parties. The Iroquois 


252 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


depend largely on surprise attacks to gain 
their victories. Summon the rest of your 
warriors to a war-dance to-night. That will 
encourage them to meet the attack of the 
Iroquois, if it comes. Y r ou outnumber your 
enemies nearly three to one. If you fight, 
you can destroy them.” 

The chiefs promised to give careful con¬ 
sideration to the words they had heard, and 
went back to the council-lodge from which 
they had come. To the experienced frontiers¬ 
man it soon became apparent that his advice 
was not to be followed. A strange apathy 
settled over the town,—an apathy that ren¬ 
dered the inhabitants incapable either of de¬ 
fending themselves, or of planning intel¬ 
ligently for their escape. 

Not all the Illinois, however, were willing 
to sit still, and let themselves be slaughtered 
like so many sheep. Fully a hundred of the 
younger warriors gathered before the coun¬ 
cil-house, where, with shouts and an im¬ 
promptu war-dance, they tried to encourage 
their fellows to play the part of men. Fail- 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 253 


ing in this, they marched to the lodge of Le 
Gros and placed themselves under his orders. 

The guide acted promptly. A quarter of 
the force was assigned to scout duty, with 
instructions to spread themselves through 
the forest to the north and east of the town. 
Most especially they were to watch the two 
rivers that met at this place. The remain¬ 
ing warriors were assigned positions in the 
border of the woods, to which they were to 
go in case of an alarm. 

When these dispositions were complete, 
Le Gros put his force through repeated 
drills, until every man knew exactly the place 
he was expected to fill. The scouting parties 
were then ordered to leave at once, that they 
might reach their stations before dark. The 
remaining warriors dispersed to their respec¬ 
tive lodges. 

4 4 Do you think there will be an attack, 
Uncle? ” asked Henri, when the Indians 
were gone. 

44 It is hard to say,” answered the guide. 
44 The report of Iroquois having been seen is 


254 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


probably true. I was told by Tonty, at the 
fort, that rumor had come to him that a war- 
party could be expected here this summer. 
But whether the wrath of the Iroquois is to 
be directed against the Illinois, or against 
some other tribe, is more than we can know.” 

“ What Henri and I do, if Iroquois 
come? ” asked Philippe. 

“ Why, I completely forgot you two 
boys,” replied Le Gros. “ But here are your 
orders. At the place where our canoe is 
drawn up on the bank of the river is a grove 
of trees. When the Illinois are driven out 
of the woods into the town, as they probably 
will be, I will try to form a second line of 
defense. If we can do that, I think we can 
hold back the Iroquois long enough to give 
the women and children a chance to escape. 
More than that we cannot hope to do with 
the little force we have. 

“ If a second line is formed, its right will 
rest on the grove I mentioned. I wish you 
two to take position there. When that line 
breaks, it will be every man for himself. I 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 255 


will try to join you in the grove and escape 
with you. If I do not come, you will have 
to get away as best you can, by canoe, or 
through the town.” 

Half an hour later there came from up the 
Illinois, which here flows from east to west, 
the report of a gun, muffled by distance. 
Half a dozen similar reports followed in 
quick succession. Then came, at measured 
intervals, the sound of three other discharges, 
much louder and deeper in tone. 

“ Our scouts have found an enemy,” Le 
Gros exclaimed, when he heard the sound of 
the first gun. “ At such a time they would 
not fire for any other reason. Ah! There 
goes the six-pounder at the fort,” he added, 
as the deeper detonations reached his ear. 
“ Tonty is acting the part of a friend, and 
is giving warning that trouble is on its way 
to us. Now I must go. Remember my 
instructions. I shall depend on you to be in 
the grove with your muskets, if we have to 
fall back that far.” 

The report of the six-pounder had reached 


256 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


every person in the town. At this indication 
that the danger they dreaded was upon them, 
all was uproar and confusion. Women 
rushed in from the fields, shrieking to their 
children. Then, surrounded by their broods, 
and carrying part of the scanty equipment 
of their homes, they ran to the dug-out 
canoes that lined the river-bank. A thousand 
men followed, and in an incredibly short 
time nearly the entire population of the town 
was speeding to a place of safety far down 
the Illinois. 

The warriors who had placed themselves 
under the command of Le Gros swarmed to 
the council-lodge. With them came a hun¬ 
dred others, who, at the last moment, de¬ 
cided to throw in their lot with the town’s 
defenders. Altogether nearly two hundred 
men, half of whom were armed with mus¬ 
kets, took station at the edge of the forest. 

They had not long to wait. First a dozen 
Illinois scouts appeared in the forest, dodg¬ 
ing from tree to tree, and firing as they re¬ 
tired before a foe invisible as yet to the line 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 257 


of waiting warriors. Then the Iroquois 
came into view. They were met by a gen¬ 
eral fire from the long, thin line of Illinois. 

At this indication that their foe was not 
to be stampeded by their attack, the Iroquois 
halted while their chiefs held a council of 
war, to determine the procedure to be fol¬ 
lowed. 


CHAPTER XXI 


The short delay in the attack, due to the 
consultation of the Iroquois leaders, was 
utilized by Le Gros in perfecting his ar¬ 
rangements for defense, and in encouraging 
his followers to hold their ground against the 
superior force of the enemy. Disregarding 
the bullets that came whistling from the 
forest, he walked the length of the line of 
Illinois. He reinforced a weak spot here; 
he drew back an exposed salient there; he 
posted groups of reserves at other points 
back of the advanced line. Like a skilled 
general, he took advantage of the last few 
minutes of grace to develop his force and his 
position to the utmost. 

The scattering fire of the Iroquois in¬ 
creased in intensity, and their line moved 
forward. It was not the steady, silent ad¬ 
vance of disciplined troops; neither was it 

the stealthy approach that marked Indian 

258 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 259 


night-attacks. Every warrior seemed intent 
on making the utmost amount of noise of 
which his lungs were capable. Yelling, 
howling, screaming, they almost drowned the 
sound of their own guns. Nor were their 
bodies less active than their throats, as they 
leaped and danced from cover to cover in 
their advance. 

That the din made by the Illinois was less 
than that produced by their enemies was due 
solely to their smaller number. Individually, 
their vocal efforts were fully as great as 
those of their opponents, but the desira¬ 
bility of keeping under cover prevented them 
from emulating the antics of the Iroquois. 

Having the advantage of carefully selected 
positions, the defenders poured a hot and 
effective fire upon the attacking force. In 
spite of their activity, many of the Iroquois 
were picked off as they leaped from tree to 
tree. Others found themselves subjected to 
cross-fires from which no shelter was avail¬ 
able. They fought with their usual courage, 
and at some points drove the Illinois to the 


260 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


edge of the forest. Le Gros was ready with 
his reserves, however, and with sharp coun¬ 
ter-attacks straightened out his line. For 
fifteen minutes the Iroquois maintained their 
attack. They then withdrew to the cover of 
the forest, carrying with them a dozen dead 
and twice as many wounded. 

After resting half an hour, the Iroquois 
again advanced. It soon became apparent 
that their leaders had made a new disposi¬ 
tion of their forces. Their line had been 
thinned to about the same strength as that 
of the Illinois. The remaining warriors, 
over two hundred in number, were massed at 
the center. 

When the battle was resumed, this large 
body, composed of picked men, drove 
straight and hard at the opposing line, and 
bent it to the point of breaking. Quickly 
gathering his reserves, Le Gros threw them 
at the advancing “ shock troops,” and, by 
the hardest kind of fighting, checked them. 
But, outnumbered four to one as he was at 
this critical point, he realized that the check 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 261 


must be only momentary, that soon his line 
must be broken unless he withdrew. He 
gave the signal to retire to the second line of 
defense. 

The strength of this second line consisted 
in a number of log-cabins that stretched 
from the grove where Henri and Philippe 
were stationed, almost to the forest. As the 
Illinois retired they applied the torch to the 
frail bark lodges that lay east of their new 
position, thus depriving their enemies of the 
shelter of these structures. 

Well protected in the log-cabins, the Illi¬ 
nois were again able to check the advance 
of the Iroquois. In the burning lodges, 
however, the latter found new and effective 
weapons. Firebrands were attached to ar¬ 
rows and shot flaming through the air, to 
land on the bark roofs of the log-cabins. 
Half of the structures were soon in flames. 
Driven out of their shelters, the defenders 
still found temporary protection behind 
their blazing houses. This could last but a 
few minutes, however, and to continue the 


262 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


fight without such shelter was useless. Le 
Gros, from his position in the edge of the 
grove by the river, gave the signal to retire. 

The word passed quickly down the line, 
and in a twinkling the Illinois were scamper¬ 
ing through the town, which they had so well 
defended, to the shelter of the woods. The 
Iroquois followed, but had little chance of 
overtaking their fleet-footed enemies, fa¬ 
miliar as the latter were with every path of 
the forest. Scarcely a dozen prisoners were 
taken, and of these the greater part later 
made their escape. The returns to the in¬ 
vaders for sending an expedition of five hun¬ 
dred men a distance of a thousand miles were 
scant indeed. 

When Le Gros saw that his final order 
had been executed, and that his faithful fol¬ 
lowers were rapidly gaining places of safety, 
he hurriedly entered the grove to join the 
two boys. 

Because of intervening houses, the first 
stage of the battle had been invisible from 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 263 


the ground in the grove. The boys, there¬ 
fore, climbed high enough in one of the trees 
to get a view of what was going on at the 
edge of the town. When the first retirement 
came, however, they slid hurriedly to the 
ground. Here they were joined by eight 
Illinois warriors, whom Le Gros had as¬ 
signed to help the boys defend the posi¬ 
tion. 

Sheltered behind trees, the ten awaited the 
attack. For a few minutes nothing could be 
seen except the burning lodges in their front. 
Beyond these, the clearing was hidden by 
masses of drifting smoke. But soon dark 
forms appeared in the haze, darting between 
the blazing houses, and taking shelter behind 
the stumps that dotted the ground. Mean¬ 
time, from thirty Iroquois throats came the 
horrible war-cries, well calculated to shake 
the nerves of the little band in the grove. 

To the two boys danger was not a new 
thing. Risk, and life on the frontier, went 
necessarily hand in hand. But to defend 
themselves against human beings who were 


264 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


bent upon their destruction, and were ready 
to use all the daring and ingenuity of fiends 
to bring it about, was an experience as new 
as it was trying. 

When the Iroquois appeared in the smoke, 
the hot guns of the Illinois spoke again; but 
the pieces of Henri and Philippe were silent. 
Neither boy could bring himself to fire at a 
fellow-creature, even though he were one of 
the hated Iroquois. Frequently their guns 
were raised, but, before they could bring 
themselves to press the triggers, the active 
targets had disappeared. 

Finally Philippe forced himself to fire at 
a shoulder that protruded from behind the 
trunk of a dead tree, fifty yards away. His 
hand was unsteady, and the shot went wild. 
With the report of his musket, however, the 
mist that had clouded his mind rolled away, 
and he thought clearly. Those darting, leap¬ 
ing forms out on the clearing were indeed 
men, but they were men who, without cause, 
had journeyed a thousand miles to bring 
death and destruction to the people who had 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 265 


befriended him. The hot blood of righteous 
wrath which for countless centuries has made 
men fight and die in defense of their homes, 
surged through his veins. Now his brain 
was as clear and his hand as steady as if he 
were engaged in a simple hunt. Again the 
boy’s musket barked; this time the bullet 
went true. 

When the order for the final retirement 
was given, the eight Illinois warriors rushed 
through the grove to make their escape. 
For a moment the boys hesitated. They 
were uncertain whether to follow the Illinois, 
or to take to the canoe. The moment’s delay 
nearly proved fatal. Noting the cessation 
of fire from the grove, and guessing its cause, 
eight or nine Iroquois charged boldly in the 
open. Bullets from the boys’ guns dropped 
two of them, but the rest came on undaunted. 

When the Iroquois entered the grove, and 
found its sole remaining defenders to be two 
young lads, who stood frantically reloading 
their guns, they yelled in triumph. Here 
were prisoners to be had for the taking, and 


266 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


prisoners were the supreme prizes of Indian 
warfare. 

Dropping their guns and seizing their 
war-clubs, the Iroquois formed a ring 
around the boys, with the intention of tak¬ 
ing them alive. The lads stood back to back, 
Henri with clubbed musket, Philippe with 
his gun in one hand, his tomahawk in the 
other. They might well have yielded to 
superior force, but both knew that death 
from knife-thrust or blow of club Avas to be 
welcomed when compared Avith the lingering 
tortures that would be theirs if captured 
alive. 

The circle of enemies closed in on them, 
and a hand-to-hand fight began. Henri 
parried a bloAV with his musket, and, in re¬ 
turn, felled his assailant. Philippe countered 
the blow of a club Avith his gun, but at the 
next instant he sank unconscious to the 
ground. A second club had struck a glanc¬ 
ing blow on his head, cutting the scalp, and 
stunning him Avith its force. 

Up to this time, the rather stolid Henri 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 267 


had fought steadily and methodically. Now, 
however, that he saw his chum lying pale 
and still at his feet, a great anger flared up 
in his heart. He lost all thought of him¬ 
self, determined only that the body of Phi¬ 
lippe should not be mutilated by the scalp¬ 
ing-knives of his murderers. Laying about 
him with his heavy musket, the sturdy 
peasant-lad drove his enemies momentarily 
back. But he could not face all ways at 
once, and the Iroquois were closing in for the 
final struggle, when Le Gros, seeking the 
boys, came in sight. 

With a coughing roar like that of an en¬ 
raged lion, the guide leaped at the circle of 
savages. A blow of his clubbed musket 
felled the nearest. The stock of the gun 
shattered with the impact, but the heavy, 
iron barrel remained in the hands of the 
giant. In such hands it was a terrible 
weapon at close quarters. Under its blows 
two more of the Iroquois went down. Henri 
felled another. The remaining two found 
safety in flight. 


268 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Picking up the still form of Philippe as 
a man of ordinary strength would lift a 
babe, Le Gros rushed for the canoe. Henri 
followed, carrying his gun and Philippe’s. 
In a moment they were afloat. 

Le Gros steered up-stream to gain the 
shelter of the dense smoke from the burning 
town. He had but a hundred yards to go, 
and, as the Iroquois were not expecting any 
of their enemies to attempt to escape in that 
direction, over half the distance was passed 
before the canoe was discovered. Then a 
fusillade was directed at the fleeing craft, 
and a dozen bullets splashed in the water 
near it. A splinter was cut from the handle 
of Henri’s paddle, and two balls passed 
through the side of the canoe, but, fortu¬ 
nately, no harm was done. Before the Iro¬ 
quois could reload, the canoe disappeared in 
the smoke-screen. 

There was no more firing, but sounds of 
a tremendous commotion ashore came to the 
refugees through the fog of smoke. Among 
the cries, Le Gros distinguished his own 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 269 

name called excitedly from group to group. 
A grim smile came to his lips. 

“ The Iroquois scoundrels haven’t forgot¬ 
ten the one who bearded them in their own 
dens,” he said. “ If I mistake not, they 
would give a dozen ordinary prisoners to get 
the Great One tied to one of their stakes.” 

As Le Gros spoke, his glance fell upon 
the form of Philippe, lying motionless in the 
bottom of the canoe, and the smile faded 
from his face. But Philippe was not seri¬ 
ously hurt. The glancing blow of the stone 
war-club had not injured the skull, and the 
wound in the scalp was more painful than 
dangerous. Soon the boy stirred uneasily; 
then his eyes opened wonderingly, and he 
sat up. 

A glance at the clear eyes and the brown 
face showed Le Gros that Philippe had suf¬ 
fered no harm. With a great joy singing 
in his heart the giant bent to his paddle until 
the stout ash buckled almost to the break¬ 
ing point. 

Guessing from the exertions of his com- 


270 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


panions that they were endeavoring to escape 
pursuers, Philippe reached for his paddle. 

“ No, no, lad! Not yet,” said the guide, 
unwilling that the boy should exert himself 
so soon. “ We need another kind of help 
first. Load and fire your musket as fast as 
you can. No other guns are being fired 
now. It may be Tonty will hear the reports, 
and will understand that they are signals for 
help.” 

“ When we go a little farther we see fort,” 
replied Philippe, who was familiar with 
every turn of the river. 

“ Good! ” said the guide. “ If we get out 
of this smoke by that time, Tonty may recog¬ 
nize us with the help of a telescope that he 
has.” 

After the fifth discharge of his gun, Phi¬ 
lippe pointed ahead over the tops of the 
trees that lined the southern bank of the 
river. There, somewhat less than a mile 
away, the top of a great mass of rock, 
icrowned with buildings, loomed above the 
surrounding forest. Now that the canoe had 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 271 


emerged from the smoke, the rock could be 
clearly seen. 

Philippe fired again. As the echoes of the 
report, thrown back from the surrounding 
hills, died away, an answering discharge 
came from the fort. A mass of white smoke 
leaped from the top of the palisades that 
protected the buildings; then followed the 
roar of a six-pounder. 

“ They have seen us,” cried Le Gros. 
“ Tonty will help us, if man can do it. Now, 
Philippe, take your paddle.” 

It was time that the canoe should be 
driven to the limit. Now that the smoke had 
been left behind, a score of Iroquois could 
be seen running along the north bank of the 
river. To keep out of their range it was 
necessary to hug the south bank. But from 
the woods on that side of the river came 
whoops and yells that indicated all too 
clearly the presence of the enemy. A dozen 
warriors had crossed the river in a dugout 
left by the fleeing Illinois. They were now 
racing along a broad trail that led from the 


272 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


town to the fort. They were followed by a 
score of others who had swum the river. 

In spite of the utmost efforts of the three 
at the paddles, the pursuers gained rapidly. 
They were abreast of the canoe when it was 
still half a mile from the fort. The face of 
Le Gros became very anxious. 

“ They will beat us to the rock,” he said, 
“ and will prevent us from landing there un¬ 
less our white friends come to our rescue.” 

The brave and chivalrous Tonty was not 
the man to sit still and let comrades perish 
for lack of any help within his power to give. 
When the reports of Philippe’s gun reached 
him, he grasped the situation at once, and 
made preparations to meet it. Half of his 
scanty force of thirty men was ordered to 
get ready to follow him to the plain below. 
The single cannon in the fort was loaded 
with grape-shot. It was trained on the trail 
that led to the Illinois town. 

Almost in despair the panting trio in the 
canoe toiled at the paddles. So close were 
they to their goal that the towering rock 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 273 

seemed almost within a stone’s throw. But 
the yells of the Iroquois in the woods showed 
them to be well ahead of their quarry. At 
any moment Le Gros expected to see their 
dark forms on the landing at the foot of the 
rock. 

Then through the forest crashed the re¬ 
port of the fort’s cannon. Shrieks of pain 
told that the shower of grape had found its 
mark. A volley of musketry followed, suc¬ 
ceeded by more howls. The foremost pur¬ 
suers, intent only on heading off the canoe, 
had run full speed into an ambuscade. Half 
a dozen of them fell; the rest recoiled from 
the deadly fire of the French. 

A moment later the canoe shot up to the 
landing, and the three refugees joined the 
band of white men. There was little time for 
greetings, but Le Gros squeezed Tonty’s one 
hand in a grasp that made the little Italian 
wince. Then he and the two boys took their 
places in the battle-line. 

The little band retired after the fashion of 
Indian warfare. Dodging from cover to 


274 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


cover, they kept up a scattering fire at the 
Iroquois, who, reinforced, again pressed for¬ 
ward. Without loss the French reached the 
foot of the steep trail that led up the southern 
side of the great rock. Five minutes later 
they were safe behind the palisades on its 
summit. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Starved Rock, on which the explorer La 
Salle had built his Fort St. Louis, was an 
impregnable position. Towering more than 
a hundred feet above the bottom lands of the 
Illinois River, it offered but one means of 
ascent, the steep, perilous path that led up 
its southern face. Elsewhere its sides were 
perpendicular, or so nearly so that not even 
an American Indian could scale them. In 
such a position a dozen Frenchmen could 
have defied any number of Indians indefi¬ 
nitely. Water was to be had by dropping 
buckets down the northern face of the rock 
to the river. Only starvation could subdue 
the garrison of this stronghold, as almost a 
century later starvation did conquer a rem¬ 
nant of the Illinois nation which there found 
refuge from their Pottawattomie enemies. 
Hence the name Starved Rock. 

In the security of their fort the French 

force under Tonty found little difficulty in 

275 


276 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


repelling the attacks of the Iroquois, when 
the latter, balked in their attempt to destroy 
the Illinois, laid siege to the Rock. After 
an investment of six days, which cost them 
a score or more of their warriors, the Iro¬ 
quois departed. 

Scarcely had the canoes of the hostile band 
disappeared up the river before a lone In¬ 
dian, who spoke the language of the Illinois, 
presented himself before the French sentries 
and asked admission to the fort. 

Philippe, now fully recovered from the 
wound in his head, sat at the door of the 
log-house in which he, with Henri and Le 
Gros, made his home. The guide, within the 
house, was engaged in cleaning his musket, 
which, fitted with a new stock, had rendered 
good service during the siege. As the new¬ 
comer entered through the gate of the pali¬ 
sade, a glad cry of recognition burst from 
Philippe’s lips. 

“ It is the Springing Panther,” he cried. 
“ Come, Great One; come, for my uncle is 
here!” 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 277 

Less emotional than Philippe, the Pan¬ 
ther, for it was he, walked leisurely across 
the open court of the fort. As he approached 
his nephew, Le Gros appeared in the open 
doorway behind the lad. Exclamations of 
astonishment came simultaneously from the 
lips of the Frenchman and of the Indian. 

“ The Hawk! ” 

“ Pierre! ” 

With a bound Le Gros was in front of 
the Indian, his great hands upon the latter’s 
shoulders. In his eagerness the guide shook 
him like a child. 

“ Tell me,” he said. “ Tell me, are you a 
Huron, named the Hawk? Did you have a 
sister called Marie, who was killed by the 
Iroquois sixteen years ago? ” 

“ It is so,” replied the Indian. 

“ Then,” continued Le Gros, and his voice 
trembled with emotion as he spoke, “ who is 
this boy who calls you uncle? ” 

The answer of the warrior was given in 
the tongue of the Hurons. 

“ He is the son of my sister Marie,” he 


278 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


said; “ and if you are Pierre Bressani, he is 
also your son.” 

The sudden and all-unexpected realization 
of the hope that had been the guiding star 
of his life proved almost too much for Le 
Gros. Like a man stricken with illness, he 
staggered^ and sat down on a bench beside 
the door. 

“ Tell him, Hawk/’ he said, for Philippe 
had not understood the Huron’s words. 
“ Tell the boy who he is, and who I am.” 

The Hawk’s story, which for sixteen long 
years he had kept hidden in his own heart, 
was soon told. 

At the time of the Iroquois attack upon 
the little Huron band with whom Le Gros 
had left his wife and child, the Hawk was on 
the strand, repairing his canoe. The attack 
was by land. Hearing the sounds of fight¬ 
ing and the shrieks of women, he started for 
the path that led to the top of the cliff. But, 
before he reached it, Marie, with her child 
in her arms, crept down over the edge of the 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 279 


precipice in an endeavor to reach the beach' 
below. She had got a third of the way down 
when a treacherous shelf of rock gave way 
under her foot. A shrub which she grasped 
failed to hold, and she fell to the rock-strewn 
beach. The Hawk rushed to the side of his 
sister. She was conscious, but so crushed 
and broken by the fall that she could move 
only her arms. Holding out to her brother 
her boy, all unhurt, she urged him to fly 
with him while there was yet time. 

The Hawk tried to lift his sister, to carry 
away both her and her boy, but she resisted. 

“ No,” she said faintly, for she was in 
great pain, “ no, I cannot live. I am hurt 
here,” and she pressed her hand to her side. 
“ Take the boy and escape.” 

Realizing that he could be of no help to 
his sister, and that every moment’s delay 
lessened the chance of escape with the boy, 
the Huron ran to where half a dozen canoes 
were drawn up on the beach. Vigorous kicks 
stove in the sides of all but one of the frail 
craft. Into this one he put the boy, and in 


280 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


a moment was speeding down the bay. He 
was not discovered by the Iroquois, who 
were intent on their bloody work on the top 
of the cliff. 

As no place along the shores of the Great 
Lakes seemed to be safe from the vindictive¬ 
ness of his enemies, the Hawk determined to 
put many miles of land between him and 
them. Crossing Lake Huron, he went on 
to the southern shore of Lake Erie, then up 
the Sandusky River as far as his canoe would 
carry him. Continuing his journey on foot, 
he crossed the valley of the Ohio, and found 
refuge among the Shawanoes. 

For a year the Huron and his nephew 
lived in apparent security. Then one day 
there appeared in the village where they 
had their home, two Iroquois envoys. Under 
threat of incurring the wrath of their nation, 
they demanded that the Shawanoes give up 
to them the Huron warrior and the boy. A 
council was held to deliberate on the mat¬ 
ter. While it was in session, the Hawk and 
his nephew disappeared in the forest. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 281 

The pair wandered far to the south, and 
finally joined the nation of the Creeks, in 
what is now the state of Alabama. After 
two years spent with this powerful people, 
came rumors of another demand by the Iro¬ 
quois for their surrender. Again the Hawk 
determined to save his hosts embarrassment 
by departing, and took the lad with him into 
unknown wilds. 

For a year the Huron wandered from 
village to village, gradually working west¬ 
ward until stopped by the mighty flow of 
the Mississippi. Turning northward he 
eventually reached the territory of the Illi¬ 
nois. This tribe was known throughout the 
Indian world as a friend of the French and 
of their allies. Trusting that he had at last 
found a place of safety, the Hawk decided 
to make his home with them. To make as¬ 
surance doubly sure, he determined to con¬ 
ceal his identity. He spoke the Creek 
tongue fluently, and the child knew no other 
language. He announced himself therefore 
as a Creek, and as such was accepted by the 


282 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


Illinois. In accordance with Indian cus¬ 
tom, he was afterward adopted into that 
tribe. 

By this time, fear of the Iroquois had be¬ 
come an obsession with the Hawk. Lest 
some idle word should reveal his true char¬ 
acter, he withdrew within himself, spoke but 
little even to his nephew, and had as little 
contact as possible with the Illinois and their 
allies, the French. In his silence and aloof¬ 
ness the Huron had at last found security. 
None suspected his identity, or that his 
nephew, the Brown One, was the Philippe 
for whom the Frenchman, Le Gros, made 
ceaseless search. 

Late into the moonlit summer night Le 
Gros and his newly found son sat alone, talk¬ 
ing. Philippe told of his life with the Illi¬ 
nois, and of the earlier wanderings, part of 
which he dimly remembered. On the other 
hand, he had many questions to ask about his 
mother, about his father’s early life, and of 
the later journeys in search of the lost boy. 


A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 283 


himself. Then the conversation turned to 
the future. 

“ On many a night such as this,” said Le 
Gros, “ have I sat alone, planning what I 
should do for my Philippe when I should 
find him. I did not forget, either, that 
money would be required to carry out those 
plans. The earnings of fifteen years have 
been laid away in preparation for this day. 
We will go to Montreal and Quebec, where 
are great stone churches and stone forts, 
with their soldiers and their cannon. There 
we will see the ships that sail on the salt 
water. In one of them we will go to Franee, 
where are even more beautiful churches, and 
great castles of stone, taller than the tallest 
elms in our forests. We will visit the chief 
city of the land, Paris they call it. There 
we may see the great white father, who rules 
over all Frenchmen and their allies.” 

As Le Gros unfolded his plans, Philippe’s 
eyes opened wide with wonder. It seemed 
impossible that such things could be for him, 
a poor half-breed. For another hour the 


284 A BOY OF THE OLD FRENCH WEST 


two talked of the glories of France, glories 
that loomed large, though hazy, in the 
father’s memory. 

After a time a wistful note crept into 
Philippe’s voice. 

“ When we sec all the fine things over 
there,” he said, “ then what we do? We live 
in France? ” 

Le Gros looked long into the brown, up¬ 
turned face before he replied. 

“ No, lad,” he said. “ We will not stay 
there. France is beautiful and great, but 
you and I could not long be happy there. 
We should pine away in the great stone 
houses, as does the cub of the wild wolf when 
caught and caged. Our lives have been as 
free as the wind that sweeps through our 
forests and over our lakes. To the freedom 
of the forests and the lakes we will return.” 

Then Philippe was content. 


THE END 
































































































































